


Little Things

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 07:03:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 30,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various fic drabbles and ficlets from all my fic 'verses originally posted to tumblr. Pairings and setting vary with each chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dog of War in Wisconsin (Agron/Nasir Dark Hunter AU)

**Author's Note:**

> First posted back in September 2012, this is part of an Unfinished Agron-as-a-Dark-Hunter fic.

_Vengeance_. It was a word and ideal that had followed and formed Agron of the Teutons for his long, immortal existence. Even during that brief period in his life when he knew joy, it was still clouded by bloodlust and vengeance. He was born a free man, captured and sold as a slave, trained as a gladiator, fell in love as a rebel, and died swearing vengeance on former brothers who brought dishonor to them all. It was almost enough to make him laugh; he died during a slave revolt only to sell his soul to Artemis. And for what? That one final act of vengeance. 

It was the act of a man who simply lost it all. Having Nemetes, he who Agron and Spartacus freed, betray them all to Crassus still caused him to rage over two millennia later. Perhaps he could’ve died on that field in peace if it wasn’t for Nemetes actions’ bringing about Nasir’s death.

 _Nasir_.

He couldn’t even utter the name for at least three centuries after he watched his beloved fall to the hands of worthless Roman fucks. It was something precious, private, kept to himself and locked away. Duro, beloved brother, his death had brought madness and bloodlust to Agron; Nasir’s broke all sense of sanity. Agron became a Dark-Hunter, a true monster, and found himself counted among the first of the _Machiskyli_ , the Dogs of War. 

Now he lived in this modern world protecting other people’s beloved family and friends from the monsters lurking in the dark, even if he was one of the worst. It was a form of penance for his stupidity, his pride, and the Greek’s favorite crime of hubris. He’d resigned himself to his fate. Of course Agron, always more for action than thought, forgot one simple thing about the Fates.

They nurtured Vengeance like mothers. And the loved making everyone, Dark-Hunters included, their playthings.

*************************

“There’s a fucking Roman in New Orleans,” Kell’s said, voice tinny over the cell phone line.

Agron tried not to laugh. Acheron was crueler than any of them could guess if he’d placed a Roman among the New Orleans crew. To say they weren’t welcome there was an understatement. The Romans, in their bid to control the whole known world, had many enemies of damn near everyone. Most Dark-Hunters of a certain age, had died at Roman hands, and sworn revenge on them.

“Which one?” Agron asked.

“Valerius.”

Agron’s eyes widened in surprised. That was tantamount to a death sentence. Kyrian Hunter was the veteran guardian of that city and he was crucified by Valerius’ grandfather. It would certainly make for an interesting Mardi Gras.

"You still alive over there?" Kell asked. "No wonder Ash is sending you a Squire."

"What?" Agron asked. He didn't need or want a Squire. He did fucking fine on his own.

Kell laughed. "Ah, so the boss didn't tell you. Might want to give him a call. Heard you're in for a world of fun."

Agron carefully put his cup of coffee down before he smashed it. "What little fuck told you all of this?"

"Nick, who else?"

Agron was pissed. He did not need a babysitter. He needed better heating, a tougher wardrobe, and a decent fuck. He did not need a babysitter. "I'll call you back," he said to Kell. He hung up on the Dacian's laughter and quickly dialed their boss, Mr. Overlord himself, Acheron. “Ash, I’ve been doing fucking fine on my own for the past three months. I don’t need a new squire.”

“Hello, Agron. Happy New Year. And I’m here to tell you that you do. Now, be a good little dark-hunter and stop pissing me off.”

"You pissed me off first," Agron said as he clenched his first on the table top. 

"You've pissed me off always," Acheron said. "Just, take the squire Agron. She's good friends with the Dorean Squire Diona often uses. You _like_ Diona remember?"

Agron huffed. "Why does she get a Dorean and I get a fucking Barnacle?"

"Because she pisses me off _less_ ," Ash said. He hung up on Agron then, only to text him with an address. It wasn't an explicit order, but even Rhaskos would've understood the implication. Ash would know if he lingered, so he threw down his coffee and got in his truck, driving off to whatever Hell-personifed squire Ash had set up for him.


	2. Because the Night (Mira/Saxa Punk!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Mira/Saxa Punk AU for Alex, from Sept. 12th

Spiked leather collars and glaring feedback were made for Saxa. Mira watched her move on the packed floor of CBGB’s as she danced and yelled along to music. That was her punk rock girl, ripped pants and bright red lipstick. It wasn’t quite Mira’s style, coming from a pressed skirt life in the suburbs. In this club, with Saxa pressed against her and no one giving less than a fuck, she really couldn’t care if it wasn’t quite her scene. If her fellow students back at Columbia saw her like this, they wouldn’t know what to do. Mira drowned out those thoughts, pulling Saxa from the crowd to a darker corner. It was Valentine’s Day, their first together, and a woman was on stage singing _Hey Joe_. 

_I’m nobody’s million dollar baby_ hung in the air as Saxa tilted Mira’s chin up for a kiss, hands traveling down to her legs and teasing at the bare skin above her knees. Mira gasped into her mouth, laughed, and wondered just what the rest of 1975 would bring her.


	3. A License To Kill (With Sarcasm) (A Capua Inc. ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Nov 3rd, the first of the Capua, Inc ficlets for amorekay.

“They always said you can’t choose your family. Maybe those bastards were right. You can’t choose blood. You know that, I know that, but you can choose who you stick with through it all. No one can hold a gun to your head and tell you to hang with a crew. Well, maybe they can. I don’t know, you boys in blue tell me how it goes. You got psychologists hanging around this precinct, right? That’s their job. To sit behind that glass, watch me talk, and tell you three that my father didn’t hug me enough and mama should’ve kissed me goodnight.”

Duro Bauer pushed away from the cool metal tabletop and studied the detectives in front of him. They’d met at least three times a day for the past three days, all trying to get intel on Duro’s last con. They’d tried good cop, bad cop, and now were going for the barter.

He’d been ordered to buy his crew time, but he didn’t think revealing that he worked for the same government, albeit at a _much_ higher pay grade, was what Oenomaus had in mind for Capua Inc and this mission. If there was one thing Duro could do though, it was bullshit. 

Duro tapped out _We Will Rock You_ with his feet as he contemplated his next move. He pointed to the pretty boy surfer cop. “Detective Julius—”

“Special Agent,” the man corrected.

“Special Agent Julius, have we talked about my brother yet?”

Julius, the youngest of three men before him, shook his head. 

“Let’s talk about Agron. That should make Tullius upstairs over the fucking moon, right?”

Julius coughed. “I didn’t think Director Cicero’s joy was any of your concern Mr. Frei.”

Duro smirked and replied, “ _Suum cuique._ ”

 

*********************

Agron was the one who got them the job. After years of illegally stealing shit they made a contract with the governmental overlords to get _paid_ to steal shit. It was a deal with the devil, that first official contract, but Agron was desperate to get them a decent job and legal citizenship. It was amazing what the CIA would hand over when you had them by the balls and on the brink of a really messy public scandal. 

Duro wasn’t really an escort at the time, but the American boys in Munich didn’t know that, and no one was too keen on correcting them. 

Their first controller, Grumio, didn’t last long. Clemens wasn’t too bad, but he was more concerned with black market dealings than actual jobs. Eventually they got dumped in the lap of Batiatus who handed them off to Oenomaus. That was still a power-struggle shit show in action ever since Spartacus became the new golden boy of the Arena. 

Working for an agency which had legal licenses to kill was worse than living a soap opera. So much petty bullshit went on in the background it was no wonder Agron and Duro spent most of their free time in bars. 

That’s how they met the first members of the team they recruited, Donar Schirmer, Saxa Raskoph, and Lugo Kahler. Sometimes you just needed to get drunk off your ass with people who understood your homesick ramblings. 

**********************

Special Agent Julius exchanged a look with Special Agent Pompeo. 

“So, what’s Spartacus’ real name?”

“Boris,” Duro said.

“You’re fucking joking, right?”

“Am I?”

Pompeo flipped through one of his files. “What of the backer, code name Wild Dog Tiberius?”

“Where is he from, Syrian Intelligence?” Julius asked. 

“MIT actually, but thanks for being up front about the assumptions. His family’s been here since the 1980s. He doesn’t remember a damn thing about Damascus, but I can call his baba if you want to know the best place to get a coffee.” Duro stretched his arms out and popped his neck. This shit was getting old.

“Do you know I met the hacker first? Tiberius wasn’t what we expected at all. Kid’s a genius. Granted a prep school genius, but you shouldn’t hold wealth against a guy, I guess.”

 

********************

Duro was expecting some snotty nosed corn-fed white boy once he tracked down Tiberius. Instead he found Nasir al-Jamil. He was barely legal and already held two degrees from MIT. He was tiny as hell; Diona had at least three inches on him, but their Team Leader was adamant on securing him. 

Besides, the kid looked like he needed a friend. Pretty boy like Nasir really shouldn’t have been slumming in Southie.

“I thought boys like you stayed to the Back Bay,” Duro said as he sat down next to him.

Nasir didn’t even flinch, just took a sip of his coke. “Dorchester’s up for gentrification.”

There was a big difference between Dorchester and Southie and Nasir, as a resident of the Commonwealth, damn well knew that. “This is Southie,” he argued.

“I’ve got a few Irish friends,” Nasir muttered. 

Duro looked around the bar and tried not to cringe at all the suspicious looks. He didn’t want to know what the Irish mob needed hackers for and it wasn’t his job to find out either. 

“Yeah, this looks like a welcoming crowd.”

“They don’t know you.”

“And they know _you_?”

“I’m a recognizable face.”

Nasir dropped an usb drive in front of him.

“Since you and your partner have been so sloppy in trying to research me, I decided to do you a favor and save you the trouble. This way you won’t crash any more computers. That’s all the info, no bullshit forgeries. Just tell Director Oenomaus that I at least want time to finish my thesis.”

He slid off his barstool and turned to study Duro. “Your partner, the tall guy who looks like he sprinkles all his food with steroids, who’s he?”

“You trying to tell me you don’t already know?”

Nasir shrugged. “I don’t violate other people’s privacy unless it’s for profit.”

“He’s my brother.”

He smiled and nodded as if it made perfect sense. “Tell him the braids look better on you. And that his pick-up lines are horrible. Memorable, but horrible.”

“He wants to be remembered.”

“He succeeds.”

*************

“I should’ve known how those two were going to end up together. Still had to play the part of the matchmaker because fuck, they are stubborn. I don’t get paid enough to be their relationship counselor.”

“This is all truly fascinating.”

“I know, right?”

“Can I shoot him?” Special Agent Cornelius asked.

“No,” Pompeo said. “Stay with him, Julius.”

Duro gave Pompeo and Cornelius a wave as they left.

“So, you just you and me, officer.” He widened his eyes and lowered his voice. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time? I’m a fan of the quick fuck, but something tells me you’re the slow and sensual type.”

“Nothing turns you on like steels tables, is that it?” Julius asked.

Duro eagerly nodded. “And the mood lighting, of course.”

******************

Mira glared at him when he stumbled into the van. “Should I have left you two alone?”

“Jealous, Mira?” he asked as he slipped a clean t-shirt over his head. 

“You know Duro flirts with everything.” Agron said.

“It’s clearly a family trait,” Nasir muttered. He tapped something into his handheld. “At least we can count Duro as the more successful of you lot.”

“I got you, didn’t I?” Agron asked.

Nasir rolled his eyes. “It was part of my annual charity drive to help the completely hopeless.”


	4. Please Remember Me (Agron/Nasir Dark-Hunter AU Take 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Remember Me Prompt for Wishy, from Jan 2nd, Agron/Nasir, part of that Dark-Hunter au thing.

Over two thousand years separated them now; two thousand years of undead living and wars for Agron of the Teutons and just as many years of life and rebirth for Nasir. The Nasir who stood before him went by the name Nasir Gibran, the one he was born with, never owned as a slave or called Tiberius by a dominus. He’d never fought in a rebellion, never led his own flank of an army, and never loved Agron. He’d never died, at least not in this life; he was gorgeously, fleetingly, completely, human.

And he didn’t know Agron at all.

There were long-established rules for the Dark-Hunters. They were to avoid personal relationships with mortals; that one often went ignored since everyone, even the most solitary soul of an immortal being, needed someone to shoot the shit with eventually. The Dark-Hunters were also never, ever, supposed to fraternize with the Squires. That rule was held mostly sacred by all. Agron didn’t think he had the strength or restraint within him to hold back, not with Nasir so close again.

He couldn’t abandon his post. Acheron would kill him for good this time, not to mention the wrath Diona would bring down on his head. He could request a transfer, but so much bullshit came with trying to move a Dark-Hunter to a new area. The territory disputes were legendary. So he’d have to deal and pray that Nasir would never, ever remember his past life; never recall that his name was once the most precious appellation to fall from Agron’s lips; never relive the solace they found with each other.

Agron wanted him to know though, just a little bit, just who and what he was, or rather had been, and where he came from. Agron’s own name was lost to history; it was easy to make yourself unknown when you could track down all the penholders and dictate their stories. Some truth was lost to time for a reason; Agron’s was lost for his own protection, a thing he almost regretted now. How much easier it would be to just open a Wikipedia entry rather than carefully select the bits and pieces of his past to share. So much of what made him near the end of that godsforfaken rebellion came from the strength and support of Nasir.

Nasir and Naevia were both back in his life now, same faces, same voices, completely different histories and memories. They were and they weren’t _his_. Naevia had been hard enough; Nasir would break him again. They’d both asked about his past though, used to the more accessible information of the other Dark-Hunters who weren’t as suspicious as Agron. So he’d have to sit back now, puzzle it out, bother Diona for some editing, and pray to any fucking god who was listening that Nasir wouldn’t remember.

If those eyes, those that had haunted him through the millennia, looked at him again with love and recognition, any and all vows would be damned. There was a higher power Agron would always answer to; not Artemis, not Acheron, not even Savitar, but always Nasir.


	5. Sometimes You Want To Go (Agron/Nasir Bar AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drink Me, Nagron, set in a modern!AU for Wishy from Jan 2nd.

Nasir grew up in his family’s bar. He had birthdays here, the old timers buying his friends rounds of soda as they coached the kids on darts. He started working in the kitchens legally at fourteen, at eighteen he started as a barback, and now at twenty-two he took over the slow afternoon-midnight shifts when he didn’t have graduate classes. He knew his regulars; he knew his old timers who had been here since the bar first opened its doors; he knew his sports fans; and he knew the people just looking for a hard drink and a dark corner. The man hunched over at the end of the bar was a completely different case; he’d asked for a scotch and had been slowly swirling it for the past twenty minutes.

Nasir didn’t like to play-up to the bartender-as-a-therapist trope but he knew damn well that some people just needed to talk. A bartender was a captive audience; it didn’t cost Nasir anything to be a decent person. Nasir finished wiping down his taps and walked over to the guy. He was attractive, even with the furrowed brow and messy hair. He had just the right amount of scruff that kept him on the good side of the sexy/sloppy border. The eyes were gorgeous even if they’d been staring at a half-empty bottle of Patrón like it held the meaning of life. Either that or the guy was caught up in his own reflection from the back glass.

“Want to talk about it?” Nasir asked.

The guy shrugged. “Long day. Started with my boyfriend calling me a petulant child and went tumbling right on down to hell from there.”

Nasir sorted out the closest stack of coasters. “Maybe your boyfriend had a pretty shitty night and slightly overreacted to being woken-up for a nostalgia cartoon watching fest.”

“Maybe he besmirched the name and legacy of _Scooby Doo_.”

Nasir locked gazes with the now amused eyes. “Maybe he’s sorry,” he said.

A slight nod and a downed drink. “Maybe he won’t be sleeping on the couch or at Naevia’s then.” He pushed back from his seat. “I do have to get back before Duro’s chops my bike up for parts.”

Nasir leaned over the bar and pulled him in for a kiss by his uniform shirt. “See you at home, Agron.”


	6. Pax (Duro/Elill No Dominion ficlet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Duro/Elill from Jan 7th.

Duro lived for such days; those of rest, when the biggest concern was preparing food. Summer had been kind to the clan; the rains weren’t bad and the crop yields had gone well so far. No wars or serious offensive brawls had been started with the neighboring settlements over land rights or flocks of sheep. They even had plans to travel to Donar’s village in the south to see him, Mira, and Saxa. Life had fallen into its place in a way Duro never quite imagined or dreamed.

The heat of the summer seeped around the wooden planks of their hut and Duro’s eyes followed the play of sunlight on the dark wooden walls. Wind rustled the leaves outside and whistled through the cracks and nooks of their home. Elill still slept beside him, exhausted from a long day helping to rebuild Freya’s home. The old witch just had to look his way and he’d see to her every whim. She was like a mother to Elill, and Duro would never begrudge him the chance to experience such loving care. Elill would find his closest companion of the clan with their ancient Elder.

Duro turned his attention to the expanse of Elill’s bare skin laid out under his hands. He trailed his fingers along the path of Elill’s spine, occasionally deviating from the path to trace memories of dark swirls that once decorated the bronze skin. There were new markings now, permanent ones, scars from battles fought in defense of their freedom and lives. There were the tattooed forms of their sacred horse and sacred tree to join the eight-pointed star as symbols forever carried on Elill’s flesh. The thick hair was mostly tamed in a loose braid; it’s only adornment this morning the silver and bronze beads Duro had woven into the strands. There was a new one each cycle of the moon to mark the passage of time since their winter arrival. Duro, who once dreamed of nothing more than life as a shepherd, now looked towards a future with Elill, both of them beyond years imagined, with Elill’s hair still carrying the beaded proof of their years together.

Elill’s shoulders rose to meet Duro’s touch. There was a low soft laugh before Elill turned his face from the furs. “I thought we were to rest this morn,” he rasped out.

Duro leaned down and met Elill’s lips in a quick, deep kiss. “I still have no plans for us leaving this bed,” he confessed. He caressed a few lose strands of Elill’s beloved dark hair. “Return to your sleep. I will guard your dreams.”

“I do not wish to waste the day,” he protested. He yawned. “Though perhaps a few more moments.”

Duro pressed his lips to the soft skin of Elill’s cheek. “Sleep,” he repeated. “We have the time.”


	7. True Wealth (Diona/Chadara All the Difference 'verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diona/Chadara Canon-au drabble for Alex from Jan 20th.

When the rebels first broke into her villa, Diona was at the side of Crixus, killing all in her path in search for a woman named Naevia. Chadara envied such a person who was fiercely loved until she recalled the broken creature Dominus had used with little care. Now Chadara watched as Crixus and Diona both trained Naevia to find her own vengeance. Diona’s days were reserved for training and duty, but at night she came to Chadara, let Chadara’s soft hands soothe the aches from the day, caress the hardened skin and old scars. Chadara once thought riches the only thing of beauty in this world, but now, nothing seemed more glorious than the sight of Diona’s hair mixed with her own, spilling over their bedroll, golden and brown strands as entwined as their limbs. Chadara did not stay in this rebellion for the sake of a freedom forced upon her, but to aid in the vengeance of the woman she would stand beside in this life and the next.


	8. Carry On (Camilla, canon!au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Kay, a canon!au pov from from a background character of a young rebel we call Camilla. You can find her in both Vengeance and WotD. From Jan 20th. **Warning for Character Death**.

Choices, desire, freedom, all were unfamiliar things to Camilla. They were words, ideas, and concepts she knew in theory. As a slave she never expected a day would come when she would know them in practice. Spartacus was the man who came to her villa, stealing into it in the middle of night, slitting throats and snapping necks, all in the path to her dominus. He was the one whose name she’d heard spoken in awe, in derision, and in fear; the mongrel who dared to rise above his station; the slave who succeeded in freedom. She’d never thought his cause would come to her home.

It was not, however, Spartacus she saw as their protector or their true leader. Spartacus led the battles yes, but Mira was the one who saw them all to new clothes, food, and shelter. She was the one who assured that that any who parted with Agron were not traitors to the cause, but protectors of their legacy. She was the one who showed them worth in what they could all be, even if they were not fighters. 

Camilla did what she could to ease the burden she so often saw in Mira’s eyed. Mira shouldered the weight of all the rebels, each one of their lives, injuries, and worries came to her in ways Camilla knew would never reach Spartacus. Spartacus and the others led them towards war, guided by vengeance, fueled by anger. Mira led them towards freedom, guided by survival. Camilla assisted in the training of the archers, offered her services in organization, always lent a hand to cook food and wash linens, anything she could do so that Mira could get one more moment of rest between one problem and the next. The small smile Mira gave, the soft whispers of _gratitude_ , were enough to fill Camilla’s heart. Mira was their leader and Camilla loved her in a way she knew was different than any other. 

Mira was the approachable one; she was not without temper, none of them were, but she seemed more like them than the gladiators who strutted around with their arrogance as much a part of them as their swords. She was untouchable in the way Camilla wanted her most though; Mira was Spartacus’ woman and when she wasn’t, there was little time for desire or the stirrings of romance.

And now Mira lay dead; one more piece of desolation on the cold mountain top. There would be no more light shining in her dark eyes as she teased Agron or shared song with Lugo. There would be no more small smiles as she corrected bow grips and watched sparring matches. There would be no more guidance, sometimes quiet, often firm, and almost always required, for the whole rebellion. 

Camilla feared what would happen in the absence of Mira. Without her, doubt for their survival settled into Camilla’s chest in a way it hadn’t since Spartacus first declared her villa free. It was the cause Mira had died for though, in the pursuit of saving others and protecting them all. And so Camilla would continue fighting in her memory, fighting _for_ her, and attempt to keep true to her wishes. She did not have a voice that would be much heard amongst this crowd, nor could she be counted as the trusted companion of a leader, but she had status among the former house slaves. She could keep as true to possible Mira’s plans for their survival and maybe, just maybe, she would see some of them to a true freedom far from the borders of Rome.


	9. If the Nymphs Should Know (Chadara/Diona Bookstore!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diona/Chadara, Modern! AU for Alex February 16th. The poem at the end is _A Nymph's Passion_ by Ben Jonson

Running a used bookstore in a medium-sized college town meant slow days were never really a problem, except for the winter. Once winter break started the store was mostly empty until the students started to check out what books they needed for the spring semester. Diona never worried during the slow times; they had a steady stream of loyal customers and local support to keep _Second Star Stories_ up and running just as it had since her grandmother started it in the 1960s.

Days like this though, when it was cold, windy, and nasty outside, with inventory already mostly done and no one but her, Chadara, and the mice in the shop, Diona regressed to her mischievous childhood. When she was little, this was her playground. She and Fat Rat the Cat explored the magical land of Biblionia with as much awe as if it was Narnia. Diona still found the little plastic treats and surprises her grandmother hid around the store to entertain her imaginative granddaughter. In one tiny, but three-floor bookstore, she managed to make it a Secret Garden and a Lantern Waste, a Shire, and a Milliways. Diona loved this place, from its creaky floor board to its constant smell of old books, that when her grandmother made mentioning of retiring, she jumped at the chance to take over. She hadn’t regretted it, mostly, even if it meant her free time was taken up by business classes at night school and actual business during the day. Between her, Naevia, Chadara, Pietros, and Castus, they managed to have the shop covered seven-days-a-week from 9 am to 7 pm. Sure, some days she felt a bit like Bernard Black and wanted to sweep everyone out of her book shop with a broom or, like Aziraphale, make it nearly impossible for the customers to purchase her favorite books, but in general, she was happy in this store. They were making a profit and breaking more than even in an economy which said book stores were dead. Diona would keep this going as long as she feasibly could.

Today, though, Diona needed something more to entertain her than reenacting the Belle scene on the ladder from _Beauty and the Beast_. She silently crept up to to the third floor poetry section, easily evading the creaky steps and groaning old railings, until she had Chadara in her sights. 

She looked beautiful, with loose golden curls escaping from under her bandana and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Chadara had decided to clean the windows today, but she always got distracted by Elizabethan Age poetry. As Diona suspected, she was scrunched up under the window sill with a copy of Ben Jonson’s poetry resting on her knees. 

Diona slid down beside her, tucking her knees up to fit in the cramped space. She kissed Chadara on the cheek before resting her head on her shoulder. 

“I’m bored,” Diona said. “Read to me?” 

Chadara smiled and kissed Diona’s forehead in answer. Her arm wound around Diona’s shoulders and rested in her hair, fingers tangling through the strands. Chadara cleared her throat and in her steady, musical voice, started to recite.

> I love, and he loves me again,  
>  Yet dare I not tell who;  
>  For if the nymphs should know my swain,  
>  I fear they’d love him too;  
>  Yet if he be not known,  
>  The pleasure is as good as none,  
>  For that’s a narrow joy is but our own.  
> 


	10. A Puppy Tale (Nasir & Kyros, Long Way Home 'verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of the _Long Way Home_ 'verse, posted March 22nd, Nasir, Kyros, and a puppy.

Nasir had never really had a pet of his own; even Nox felt more like a sister-in-arms than what Nasir thought of as pets. Even when they sailed with a cat and a dog on their ship, those creatures were part of their crew and earning their passage. It was different here, outside of Damascus, in their temporary home. Various strays had sought them out, for pats, ear scratches, entertainment, food and water. Most wandered off to better homes with less enthusiastic occupants and tiny hands.

Nasir was sorting through the piles of clothes to be washed when little teeth nipped at his fingers. He carefully pulled Agron’s cloak off the top of the pile and found a small puppy nestled inside. It yawned and scrunched its nose at the sudden light. Nasir carefully ran a finger down the soft black snout and laughed when the little teeth tried to nip at him again.

“We have a stowaway,” he said. He scratched the underside of the puppy’s jaw. A tan-colored paw batted at him. “You sleep in my clothes; you wake up when I say.”

“You speak to the air?” Kyros asked.

Nasir glanced up to meet his brother’s confused smile. He carefully reached into the pile and held up the puppy. “Hidden things in the linens.”

Kyros shook his head. “You do have the oddest assortment of creatures which follow you,” he said, “from Agron to Aurora.” He affectionately pressed his knuckles to Nasir’s chin. “It must be something in that smile.”

A smile which matched Kyros’ own. It was a trait that showed their shared blood more than anything else. Nasir, even with the scars on his face, still looked years younger and ages more innocent than Kyros. Kyros wore the history of his travels in inked memories. He proudly bore the tattooed designs on his face and arms where other men would attempt to hide them. Kyros, unlike Nasir, was not raised with Rome’s sense of shame or decorum. Nasir was still learning a bit of what it meant to have his own ways; to be a man with no real country to claim as his own. He knew who he was as a person, his own sense of right and wrong, but he still lacked the greater sense of identity and pride that came from men like Agron. Whenever he spoke of his homeland it was with such a sense of longing; as if naming the very place of its location explained so much of him.

Sharp teeth again bit at the meat of his thumb.

“See, even the pup thinks you worry too much,” Kyros said. He kissed his brother’s cheek. “Go beg some scraps from Tanith. He’s a scrawny thing; he could do with some meat in his belly.”

Nasir shook his head as he fingered the large paws. “I cannot take care of every stray and orphaned animal that wanders into our territory.”

“No,” Kyros agreed, “but some are more special than others. This one waited to be found by you, Nasir.” He nudged his shoulder. “Go on; I’ll finish the laundry. It’s been too long since my hands have found themselves soaked in water.”

He nodded at his brother and paused only long enough to pull on his pack. The pup easily fit inside. He stuck his head out, long ears flapping in the slight breeze of the afternoon, and yipped at Nasir. “Oh, Arieh is going to adore you. Naevia will kill me when he starts mimicking your sounds.”

Kyros’ low-laughter followed them on the wind all the way home.


	11. Keep Steady (Agron & Duro Spartacus: Afterlife)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duro is forever at Agron's side. From April 9th, this has spoilers for the last few episodes of War of the Damned. **Warning for references to torture and implied character death**. Part of the Spartacus: Afterlife set of ficlets.

“Wake up,” an impossible voice whispered in Agron’s ear. “Wake up,” it sang like a lullaby. “If you don’t wake up, I’ll haunt that man of yours and tell him of the time you licked an ox’s nutsack for an ale.”

Agron’s eyes shot open. _Duro_ , the main witness to such a foolish act of youth, spoke as if he stood next to him. Agron sat up, surprised to find body easily moved. He was not in pain, the one constant over the past few days that let him know he still lived; he was without it all now.

“I was expecting a warm hall,” Agron said.

It _did_ hurt when Duro’s hand swiftly met with the back of Agron’s head. “You are not completely dead yet, you stupid fuck. You hang in the in-between. We have yet to see which way the wind will blow.” The long-missed weight of a brotherly arm settled over his shoulder.

“You wait with me?” Agron asked. 

Duro nodded. “I have been beside you often these past months. Donar keeps my seat warm in the hall.” Lips quirked in a smile that made Agron stare, for it was a sight he never dreamed to see again. “You are welcome, for my words which so amused the Romans.”

Agron laughed as he remembered, dark twisted smiles and the spitting of his own blood, as he watched the fucking Romans watch him. He’d received many blows to his body during the weeks of capture. Agron was always easy to anger, and expressed so with fists and feet. Bound and chained, he had used Duro’s favorite weapon, that of words.

“I always knew your tongue would see us to death,” Agron said. He took a breath, and then another, and realized such actions must matter little in a world of neither the living nor dead. “Why the wait?”

Duro’s smile faded to something softer, though the expression was not one Agron had ever seen on his face. It wasn’t a joyous one, or meant to taunt, or even resignation. There was knowledge in Duro’s eyes that spoke of wisdom beyond the years he had lived, and the things experienced. 

“Why do we wait, brother?” Agron asked again.

“Sometimes the world is an impossible thing, and people, they can do things even the gods cannot predict. You may very well be done, but you may just be starting to forge a new path.” He grasped the back of Agron’s neck. “Let us not have words now. You have exhausted all your reserves. Rest, brother, I will guard your dreams.”

“I am sorry I broke our promise,” Agron said. He had to tell Duro, had to let him know.

“You saw me to freedom,” Duro said. His lips pressed to Agron’s temple. “Promises were fulfilled, even if they came with consequences we did not expect.”

Agron did not want to rest, to close his eyes and possibly forever lose the one before him. Again.

“I am _always_ with you,” Duro said. “We _all_ are. Yet we need you to take care of your fucking self for once. Stop your bleating and rest.”


	12. How Mira Met Donar (Donar/Mira Metzger!verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira/Donar Modern!AU that crosses over with HBO War Fandom. This is part of the Meztger verse/Gone Are All the Days, and will be expanded on later. Posted April 15th.

There was a group of SEALs two tables over, loud as hell, and pounding the tables, floor, and walls, as they drunkenly sang _Come On, Eileen_. They were all a mess, every last one of them, and Mira couldn’t wait until an MP showed up to clear them out.

All except one. He was the only sober one of the bunch, and watched over the rest with a certain fondness. He had the kind of nice, sarcastic smile that Mira never failed to find attractive.

She nudged Lena. “You see that man,” she said. “I’m going to marry him one day.”

Lena rolled her eyes. “The last time you and I made the joke, I _did_ end-up marrying the jackass Marine. Don’t tempt fate, Mira.” 

Mira just winked before turning back to her own beer. There was too much noise in the bar to properly make out the scores of the baseball, hockey, and basketball games on the tv screens, but it was a nice way to de-stress after a long day of paperwork. It was good to hang with Lena again; her friend and co-worker lived in D.C. for half of the year. It sucked when she wasn’t around. Even though their lives were starting to go different places, what with Lena’s career advancement and that whole getting married to a Master Gunnery Sergeant business, they still had nights like this, of just the two of them, and apparently drunken bastards. 

One of the SEALs came over to her, but not the one she wanted. It was the pretty boy one; the type of guy that knew he was attractive and just what it could get him.

“You’re not my type,” she said before he could even sit down.

He grinned as he took the seat anyway. “No worries there, sunshine, you’re not exactly my type either. I’m here to help you.”

Mira snorted. “Oh really?”

The guy nodded with far too much enthusiasm. “I am. You’ve been passing looks to Donar all night and, granted, he’s not seeing them because he’s too worried about our little newborns falling off their barstools, but I’m not blind.”

Mira could not actually believe this; she looked to Lena who only shook her head in response. Mira rolled her eyes. “You’re either the best or worst wingman ever.”

The guy smirked. “I’ll that as a backhanded compliment.”

The table of drunken assholes kept pointing at them and making lewd gestures. Mira wondered if it would be bad form to go over there and stab all their hands with forks.

“Your boys over there seem to think this more than trying to help a guy out.”

He shrugged. “They’re young and still think this is high school. They’ll learn the difference.”

“Why me?” Mira asked.

“Because you have absolutely no interest in me, so I don’t have to come up with a shitty lie later when you try and get me off. Well, that and I’m not stupid enough to flirt with Lena.”

Mira turned to Lena in surprise. “You _know_ him?”

She nodded. “He’s Conrad Metzger’s eldest. It’s kind of hard to avoid the Metzger family in D.C.”

“We’ve picnicked together,” he said. He winked at Lena. “So, this is Mira. Nice to meet you, I’m Agron Metzger.”

Mira glared at the two of them. “You bitch trolls from hell; this was a set-up.”

“A test drive,” Lena said. She passed a business card to Agron. “That’s Mira’s work info in case Donar needs a legal aide. I’m sure it’s required with your bad influence.”

“I don’t like blind dates,” Mira warned.

“You’ve seen him in a non-work and non-date environment,” Lena said. “It’s up to you whether or not you _want_ to pursue anything more. In this case Agron is sort of your wingman bridge.”

Mira looked at Agron, noting the hair that was on the borderline of a regulation cut, the still obviously present earring holes in his lobes, the crooked teeth that most people ignored when blinded by dimples, and felt a could dread settle into her soul. “I’ve just met him and I can already tell this will end in disaster.”

Agron laughed; loudly and for a long time to the point where everyone in the bar stared at their table.

“Is he okay?” Mira asked.

Lena nodded. “Weddings are disasters in his family, but they tend to lead to long and happy marriages.”

Mira wanted to follow that line of questioning, but she was distracted by the concern looks Donar was giving them. She must’ve been sending out a message of some sort, because he quickly left the drunken recruits to their stupidity and walked over to them.

“I have no doubt you ladies could easily take him down on your own, but do you need me to drag the lost drunken puppy back home?” Donar asked. 

Mira liked a man who seemed to have some basic respect. She pushed out the empty chair next to Lena with her foot. “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me your most embarrassing stories about him, as payment for not keeping him on a tighter leash.”

“Uh, fucking excuse you?” Agron asked.

Donar slapped the back of Agron’s head as he took his seat. “Deal.” He held out his hand. “I already know Lena through John and his crew, but I haven’t met you. I’m Donar Hass.”

She gladly accepted it, appreciating the lack of jerk nails, and the comfortable grip. “Mira Campo, pleasure to meet you.”


	13. Kore/Laeta Regency!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kore/Laeta Regency Era for Alex. Posted April 27th.

Laeta’s hands trembled as she stood across from Kore, conversation about hats and ribbons dying out as the rain pounded against the shop windows. Kore looked a thing of beauty in the sudden slanted light of an overcast afternoon. Her dark hair was drying in loose ringlets and each time she turner her head, Laeta had to force his hands to still.

“Do you,” she paused to wet suddenly dry lips and sort her scattered mind. “Do you go to town for the Season?”

Kore ducked her head, a faint pink suddenly staining her cheeks. “No,” she replied, “I find many delights that would keep me here.” She glanced up through her lashes and smiled again. "Miss Withers says you will be attending the party at Harrington Hall."

"I shall," Laeta agreed. "Do they extend invitation as well?"

Kore nodded. "Their daughter is quite taken with Sibyl. I do not wish to impose or presume, but may I speak with you again there?"

Laeta dared then, to do what she should not. She let her fingers drift across Kore's own. "It would be my pleasure."


	14. This Isn't Starbucks, Son (Auctus/Duro coffeeshop!au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auctus/Duro coffeeshop!au as requested by an anon. Posted April 27th.

Aucuts never had to remind himself _why_ he loved Duro, but there were days he had to remember why he _liked_ him.

“The fucker had it coming,” Duro argued as he nursed a bloody lip in Auctus’ office. The other guy looked much worse, truly courtesy of the Red, White, Blue, and Pissed Off. “This isn’t fucking Starbucks, and I won’t let him abuse one of your poor cashiers that way. Besides the fact, he told me to put away my father’s BDUs, and I’m fucking sorry Auctus, but I did not survive eight years of hell for some corporate sackless wonder to hate on me, in my uniform, in my partner’s coffee shop, or to listen to Diona get screamed out because you don’t serve shit in a Venti. What the fuck is a venti anyway? Just fucking call it large and get on with your life. He wanted something to complain about, so I have it to him.”

Auctus sighed as he grabbed an icepack from his mini-fridge. He kissed Duro's forehead as he pressed it to his swollen lip. “Out of all the coffee shops in all the shopping centers in all the world, you had to walk into this one.”

“You’re welcome,” Duro said with a wink.


	15. Laeta/Sibyl Pirate Queen and First Mate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laeta/Sibyl Pirate Queen and First Mate AU for Vrabia, posted April 27th.

_The Lady Margaret_ was a ship feared by the wise who sailed the seas alongside it. A whole crew of women, hellions spat out form the cities and gutters which once bore them, led raids on the coast from the Carolinas down past Hispaniola. Tales of their adventures were spread about in hushed whispers whenever their purple sails were spotted on the horizon.

Every sailor on the water knew to be wary of Captain Laeta, the Pirate Queen of the Southern Sea, and certainly she was a fearsome creature to behold. The she-devil lived in her first mate Sibyl though, a quiet girl, who appeared sweet to the unsuspecting. Tale told she was actually a mermaid, entrapped by Laeta and made human through the power of witchcraft and crossroad deals. There was never told a story of mutiny on that ship, and even the more enterprising of pirate captains let it pass without attack.

Each time, wrapped up in the warm blankets of her cabin with Sibyl at her side, Laeta would laugh at the foolish men who feared a ship of sea hags. Let them have their fear, their stories, their legends. Let them raid and plunder the bigger prize ships. Laeta had freedom, and Sibyl, and a ship that offered sanctuary for those captured and forced into this life. They didn’t own the seas, only a fool would dare to tempt its guardian spirits so, but they owned this ship, and that was enough.


	16. The Sea's Revenge (Diona/Laeta Pirate!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirate!AU of Diona/Laeta for Aeternium from April 27th.

Diona had found herself with a new captive on _The Queen Katherine_. She was a former wealthy woman who now stood widowed thanks the hands of _The Red Serpent’s_ crew. Nasir, First Mate of their sister ship, had been the one to pass the captive on; claimed that if she stayed on their ship, Mira would see her overboard and to the sharks. Diona now understood why; every one of her questions was met with answer that was both indifferent and scathing. Diona shook her head as she plopped her boots on the table.

There was a hint of frown there, the first true reaction on the woman’s face. Diona took off her hat and shook out her hair. She saw the curious eyes that now watched her, lingered on the long strands now revealed, traveled to the skin shown under the loose bindings of Diona’s shirt. A blush stained pale cheek when they rested on the swell of Diona's breasts Oh, this one would be interesting if she could be brought to their side.

“It is a simple question,” Diona said. “I am certain you know it’s answer. All you have to do is tell me.”

The woman sighed, golden-red hair bouncing as her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Laeta,” she said. “I am called Laeta.”


	17. Old Is New Again (Castus/Auctus High School Reunion AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castus/Auctus High School Reunion AU for kuriositet from April 27th.

Auctus couldn’t believe Castus was back, now, after ten years, trying to worm his way into his life again. He pulled off his headphones and leaned on his console staring hard at the man sitting in the guest chair.

“I had a thing,” Castus said, as he pushed the microphone away from his face. His eyes kept darting to the road outside, before coming back to Auctus.

“A _thing_?” Auctus asked. “A thing that took you away for a fucking decade and now you’re back here as if nothing mattered? What could have possibly caused that?”

Castus sighed. "I wanted to ease into this, but of course you won't let me."

"Oh, I'm _so_ fucking sorry," Auctus said. "You left me, on _prom night_. Do you remember what life was like ten years ago? Do you know how fucking terrified I was in the first place to ask you out? Then you didn't even fucking show up? I had to be the thirdwheel to Melitta and Oenomaus."

"I'm sorry," Castus said.

"I'm sure you are," Auctus muttered.

“Look," he held up his hands, "just promise me you won't freak out. I kill people for a living. Only bad people, but I still do it, and that’s not exactly the kind of thing you want to bring back to the one man you ever really loved who doesn’t even like to kill spiders.”

Auctus stared at him, chewed on the inside of his lip, and then reached for the vodka in the mini-fridge.


	18. The Night Is Ours (Mira/Chadara, Modern!AU Drag Kings)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira/Chadara, Modern!AU Drag Kings for kikidiesunddas posted April 27th.

Mira smiled as she helped pile Chadara’s hair on top of her head and into its stocking cap. The bowler fit over it, tucking away the gorgeous stands, but still showing the soft swell of Chadara’s face. They’d fix that later, with make-up and fake side-burns, to add to the fake beard already present. Now though, she merely smoothed down the silky fabric of Chadara’s waist coat and tightened the tie. The color matched her eyes and was a favorite of Mira's.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Mira swore. “I can’t wait to see you perform tonight.”

Chadara kissed her then, smelling faintly of crisp cologne instead of the lavender scent she wore off-stage, and made Mira laugh as the fake beard tickled her skin.


	19. Out of Time (Duro/Elill Farmer’s Market Modern!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duro/Elill Farmer’s Market Modern!AU for LeTempest, posted April 27th.

Watching Duro at the Farmer's Market was like watching someone discover new life on a planet, it was both interesting and terrifying all at once. Elill only made him go once every two weeks, but each time was an event.

“Holy fuck what the hell is that,” Duro said pointing to one of the tables.

Elill shook his head at the legitimate fear on Duro’s face. “It’s purple asparagus.”

Duro shuddered. “That shit is not natural.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around at the various stalls selling all sorts of local produce, and canned food products. He sniffed. “Holy shit, is that funnel cake?”

Elill couldn’t deny that smile; it was one of the things that caught his eye the first time Duro stumbled into his restaurant after all. “Go,” he said, “go to your deep fried food mistress, the salty wench.”

Duro gave him a quick kiss of thanks before practically hopping over a bushel of sweet potatoes to reach his powdered-sugar delight. Duro was everything Elill never looked for in a partner; he was also everything that, in the end, made Elill happy.


	20. First Impressions (Barca/Pietros canon!au)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barca/Pietros canon!au for an anon. Posted April 29th.

He was called the Beast of Carthage, a name that mocked his pride in his family and homeland’s legacy. As a gladiator he was used to either taking, or being rewarded, with what he wanted, save freedom. Cyprian’s death was still a fading memory when he was purchased by Titus as a reward for surviving his execution; his death would eventually come in the arena he was warned, but he lived to breathe and fight one more day. Inside ludus walls he met Auctus who had experience and sure hands. He taught Barca not how to kill with the spear, but to draw out the fight for the spectacle, to earn the love of the mob and gain immortality through the shouts of his name. 

Cyprian was dead, Auctus now too, and all Barca had were the damnable birds that seemed to follow him through life. He remembered being a boy, watching them near coasts and river sides, thinking them beautiful as they flew through the sky. Auctus had kept them caged for their own protection; if left to live and dwell on ludus walls, they would be captured and killed for a meal by hungry gladiators who wished for more than gruel. 

There had been little excitement or entrainment in the ludus since Gannicus was freed. So much had changed in so little time; Oenomaus now stood Doctore, Melitta and Auctus and brothers old and new were to the Afterlife. Titus had finally journeyed there as well. Crixus was being lauded as Champion, above those of better skill and longer service. Gannicus’ name was forbidden to be uttered, even if the shade of his laughter still echoed through the stone walls. Barca now stood absent all close brothers, lost either to death, freedom, or position. He was alone again, save the birds.

It felt as if more new faces arrived each day; Barca cared for none of them. He was pulled from beloved sands to often follow his dominus like a well-trained dog. This was the Beast of Carthage, absent heart, friend, and pride. All he had now was determination: earn coin and see freedom. 

Barca descended the stairs to the cell, scraps of stale bread for the birds in his hands, only to collide with another body on the steps.

“Watch fucking place,” he growled.

“Apologies,” an unfamiliar voice answered. “Doctore sends me with urgent message to Dominus; I did not think to check the stairs for other occupants.”

The boy was unknown to him, lithe of body, and short of years. They finally purchase a fucking man to match his height, and not only was he barely out of his beardless stage, but clearly the new ludus slave. They’d been in talks to receive one, ever since Lydon was offered a chance to fight in the arena. He looked innocent in a way Barca hadn’t been for lifetimes. It made his stomach roll.

“Then haul ass up steps before you see us all to our ends,” he growled. 

The boy did not question or debate, as Auctus would; he did not playfully shove Barca as Cyprian had; he merely bowed his head and nimbly maneuvered the rest of the stairs. Barca did not let his eyes linger on the flex of muscles under skin already sheen with sweat from the summer heat. He did not pause to think of what those long fingers, seemingly delicate, would feel like in his hair. He did not spare time for wondering what that pleasing voice would sound like in a tone not made of surprise mixed with hesitation. He simply turned back to his task and thought of the birds.


	21. Healing Hands (Barca/Pietros post-Sword and Ashes novel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barca/Pietros Nurse Me, Canon-AU for Alex from April 30th.
> 
> Takes place after the novel _Swords and Ashes_.

Barca called it _but a scratch_ , yet Pietros knew well how simple wounds could become much worse if infection set in. Pietros served under their dominus, Doctore, for the ludus, and with the medicus. He had spent many hours watching even the strongest men fall prey to the gods and their whims. Even if Barca saw it as nothing of concern, Pietros could already imagine the coming signs. The stubborn Beast of Carthage would never admit to slowed reactions or stumbling feet not brought about by wine. He would say the air was too hot, or his hair too heavy, rather than admit to a weakness brought from fever. Pietros knew better than to waste his breath on convincing Barca to see the medicus. The signs of illness had not started yet, but Pietros would see them gone before they could have chance to make appearance. He would do as he had always done; approach Doctore first.

“Doctore, a word if I may?” Pietros requested.

Doctore nodded, stepping from the sands into the shade of the dining area, though never taking his eyes off the gladiators.

“Your face speaks of concern, Pietros,” he said.

Pietros nodded. “Barca received injury in Neapolis, though he refuses to have wound tended.”

Doctore frowned. “I was not informed of injury.” He looked to where Barca trained with Varro, and eyes lingered on Barca’s movement. “Barca, attend,” he ordered.

Barca’s eyes narrowed as he approached them; others might see annoyance there, or anger, but Pietros knew their hidden light, the twist of that sneer. Genuine kindness and concern always surprised and warmed Barca. Pietros made certain he felt it as often as he was able to provide.

“You were injured in the games for Pelorus?” Doctore asked.

Barca growled, a sound threatening to some, it only made Pietros bow his head to hide his smile.

“Not the games, Doctore, but the intrigues that followed after. It is nothing but a scratch. It did not end me on the march to Capua, and it will not end me now.”

“Nonetheless, I would see it treated. We are already down one honorable man; I would not see us down two.” Barca made no words against him and Doctore nodded, pleased. “Pietros can surely see you to the medicus. I will seek report later, so do not stray from task.”

“Doctore,” Barca said. He passed by Pietros, already starting to unwind the ropes holding his training gear in place.

“Gratitude,” Pietros said to Doctore. He thought he saw a hint of a smile grace the older man’s face as they parted, though he surely imagined it. Doctore was not one known for humor or foolishness, despite all old tales Barca let loose in the deep of night. Oenomaus may have been a man to enjoy companionship and frivolity, but Doctore lived and breathed the very ideals of what it meant to be a gladiator. If a man could live off honor alone, it would be the only sustenance he sought. 

The walls already echoed with the low sounds of Barca’s grumbling as Pietros bent to collect padding and pauldron along the way. He was pleased to find them leading in the direction of the medicus’ room. 

“I have a half-dead fucking Gaul to deal with, and he sends me you to tend to what? Already healing bruises?” medicus asked.

“Little birds chatter too much,” Barca said as the only explanation.

“It would benefit none in this house if two champions fell and we only had Spartacus to stand for all,” Pietros said. “I doubt Dominus would be pleased if his most trusted Beast of Carthage was laid low by fever from wounds proud minds thought insignificant.”

Medicus shook his head even as he pressed hands to Barca’s skin. “You have graced bedside of many injured,” he said. 

“And now we stand here,” Pietros said just as medicus pushed down on the right side of Barca’s ribcage. There was a noticeable wince from Barca. “He has been favoring his other side ever since return. Sleep has not come easy.”

“You are a treacherous thing,” Barca said.

Medicus laughed at the words before stepping back to prepare a paste. Pietros took his place next to Barca.

He wrapped some of Barca’s braids around his fingers. “To be free you must have coin; to have coin you must be able to fight; to be able to fight you must be well. Treacherous I may be, but I do this for you.”

“For us,” Barca corrected. Pietros smiled in agreement and leaned down to meet his lips for a quick stolen moment.

“Gods fucking save me,” Crixus croaked from his bed.


	22. All In This Together (Barca/Pietros Adopted Family AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barca/Pietros Pietros & Nasir, PG, for Alex posted April 30.  
> Part of the Auctus adopted everyone ‘verse (seen in Four Times Auctus Was a Dad and the One Time He Wasn't).

When Pietros turned eighteen he happily changed his surname to that of his foster-father, the only parent he’d ever really known. With some money and a few visits to various government offices, he officially became Pietros Papakostas, like Naevia, Diona, and Dagan had before him. Now it was Nasir’s turn, and he looked ready to puke.

“You don’t have to do this,” Auctus said. He had Nasir’s hands held in his own, ignoring the people who chose to stare at them. “You’re my son. I don’t give an iota of a fuck about your last name. You are my son, with or without it.”

“And that’s why I have to do this,” Nasir said in a voice gone rough. “You’ve always _wanted_ me as your son. Why should I cling to a name from the ones who give me up?”

“They’re part of you, Nasir,” Auctus said. “There is nothing to be ashamed of in wanting to hold on to that part of your identity.”

Nasir nodded, swallowing back tears. “I’ll make theirs my middle name, but I want to be a Papakostas on my resume, on my college transcripts, on my passport. I _am_ a Papakostas.”

“Yes you are,” Auctus agreed. 

Pietros had to step away for a moment, ready to legitimately sob in a hallway full of strangers. 

*************************

Nasir lived in a shit-hole and either that was a very large cockroach or a very small bat hanging out in the right corner of the ceiling above their heads.

“I’m pretty sure your closet back home is twice the size of this apartment,” Pietros said. He held his arms out and barely had room to move in between the dresser and the bed. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

Nasir rolled his eyes. “That’s the fucking difference between a mansion and a studio,” he mocked. “Look, I get that you can stay in dad’s house forever or until you finally seduce Barca in your semi-both-Oedipal-and-Electra urge, but I need to do this on my own.”

Pietros let the comment about Barca’s past slide. He didn’t want to start that argument with Nasir again, and he was tired of pointing out to everyone that Dad and Barca hadn’t dated for ten years. He also didn’t want to tell Nasir he was being a stubborn asshole in trying to prove he could do this on his own, completely, only with money he’d earned from working jobs in high school. He let the Papakostas money pay for his college, but that was it. It was admirable, of course, but Pietros knew it wasn’t completely about Nasir proving he could stand on his own. Pietros and Nasir were just a year apart, had many of the same fears, grew up in the system and were fostered-parent together. He knew Nasir’s greatest fear; if he showed too much reliance on the family money, or support, then he’d be kicked out. It was bullshit, it would _never_ happen, but deepest fears were hardly rational ones. 

The cockroach/bat moved in the corner and Pietros very pointedly slid behind Nasir. “Dad is going to lose his shit when he sees this place.”

“Which is why you’re not going to tell him yet,” Nasir said. “Let him think I’m still rooming with Sibyl. I need you to throw him off the scent if he tries to stop by for a surprise visit.” He held out his hand for a pinkie swear, damning Pietros to sibling hell. 

“Fine,” Pietros said as he locked his pinkie around Nasir’s, “but when dad finds out, which he will, because he _knows_ , you are so very much getting the lecture on your own.”

“Deal,” Nasir agreed.

***************************

“You look like you need a drink,” Duro said. He placed a Shirley Temple down next to Pietros’ head and patted his hair. “Come on; tell your neighborhood bartender what’s wrong. I’m a lot cheaper than your therapist and I can give you fresh pretzels.” He slid a bowl next to the drink. 

Pietros finally looked up at that; the pretzels here were _damn_ good. “I just feel like I’m going nowhere with my life,” he confessed. 

“You’re all of twenty years old,” Duro said. “You’re in good health, from what Naevia says you’re financial secure, and from what Donar’s told me, you’re a promising worker, and you appear genuinely content 99.9 per cent of the time I see you. So, why so sad now emo kid? You got a bit of the heartbreak?”

Naevia at one time, while she was _very_ drunk, swore Duro was magic. Pietros kind of believed it right then. “You are a damn good bartender.”

“I’ll take that compliment more to heart when you’re legally old enough to taste any of my drink concoctions. For now, let’s heart it.”

It was after the lunchtime rush, but before the after-work swarm, so Pietros didn’t feel guilty for pulling Duro from his tasks. 

“I finally asked the man I like out, and he just stared at me before turning away and not saying a word.”

Duro winced and whistled. “That sucks.”

Pietros nodded. “And look, I _get_ that there’s an age difference between us, and he sort of dated my father ten years ago, and that could cause some issues.”

“Wait—what?” Duro asked. 

Pietros waved him off. “Dad just turned forty, it’s not like it’s a big deal.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Duro asked.

Pietros rolled his eyes. “We’re adopted, remember? We weren’t exactly babies when dad pulled us from the system. Besides, it doesn’t fucking matter anyway because Barca looked at me like I was shit on the bottom of his shoe, and I’m never going to be enough for a guy like him, so I should just get over it, but it sucks. Because you know, I just _feel_ like Barca would be right. And fuck what Nasir and Diona say; I’m not in love with dad because—ew, no. I’m fucking tired of people telling me I don’t know what I want, and then when I do know, getting utterly fucking rejected.”

Duro nodded in sympathy, though his eyes seemed to look beyond Pietros. “Tell me about him,” he said. “Let me know of this Barca so I can judge if he is worthy of you.”

“He’s fucking gorgeous,” Pietros said with a laugh. “Shallow, I know, but it has to be said. He just—he has this _hair_ Duro. It’s so long and I’ve never wanted to violate my personal space rule and touch someone’s hair more in my life. I’ve actually knocked into him a few times just to feel it against my arms. Shut up and don’t judge me,” he ordered. He continued only when Duro mimed zipping his mouth shut. “He’s so fucking tall too, which is rare for me to find. It sound like bullshit, but I prefer a man to tower over me. Most people think he’s this angry asshole, but I’ve _seen_ him be so gentle. He teaches middle schoolers and he’s _patient_ with them. I’ve known him for four years and this feeling? It hasn’t wavered in all that time.” He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. “I should’ve just let it be.”

Duro patted his shoulder. “Hey, starshine, don’t give up yet. You never know how these things work out. For example, you could spend your afternoon moisturizing my bar with your youthful tears while your little brother went out and apparently dragged this Barca here by his, admittedly, impressive hair. I don’t know who the other gentleman is, but he fills that suit out well. Nice tie.”

Pietros turned around to find Nasir, Barca, and dad all in the doorway. Nasir looked triumphant, Barca looked chastised, and dad just looked confused. Nasir led the march over to them. 

“You two need to talk or so help me,” Nasir said. He slid onto a stool and slapped his palm down on the polished wooden service of the bar. “Bartender, get me a cranberry juice. Also, meet Auctus.” He waved to their father. “Dad, this is Duro, and despite what Dagan tries to tell you he is neither the devil, nor as Naevia claims, is he magic.”

“Oh, I’m a little magic,” Duro said. He winked at dad even as he passed Nasir his drink. 

Pietros tried not to gag, because that would be immature, and Barca was kind of right there.

“Sorry that my brother’s an asshole,” he mumbled.

Barca’s fingers carefully grasped his chin, as if afraid he’d hurt him, and tilted Pietros’ head up. “He’s not the only one who was an asshole today,” he murmured.  
Pietros was find it a little difficult to breathe; he couldn’t take his eyes off Barca’s face, the small smile there, the crinkle around his eyes, it was too much.

“Oh my fucking god, will you two just kiss already,” Nasir said. 

Pietros never disliked his family since it felt a true blessing to have them. He did love them some days more than others. Today, with Barca’s lips millimeters away from his own, with his hair already brushing against Pietros’ arms, having him here because Nasir was a stubborn little shit, and dad did whatever he could to make them happy, was one of those days.


	23. An Easy Decision (Barca/Pietros Capua Inc. verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Time Stamp meme, a week after _The Start of Something Good_ in the Capua Inc. verse. Barca/Pietros, for Alex, posted April 30th.

Pietros Malek could be a devious little bastard when he wanted to, or when he was bored, or when it was a Tuesday because Tuesdays always sucked. He’d spoken to Oenomaus, got more specific details on the job, and now he waited as he thought about it. He was just in the lunchroom, unwrapping the club sandwich on rye he’d been looking forward to all day, when a looming shadow was cast over the table.

“Yes, Beelzebub?” he asked.

“What the fuck is wrong with?” Barca asked. He sat down next to Pietros and, the bastard, stole his pickle. He crunched on the sandwich sliced kosher dill with more impunity than Pietros thought possible for a piece of food.

“I think there’s a list somewhere, but may I inquire to what’s raised your current ire?”

Barca glared at him; a thing Pietros guessed was supposed to make him cower, but instead made him smile.

“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? You get the job offer of a lifetime and you don’t act on it?”

Pietros shrugged. “I like my job here. Besides, I thought I had a choice.”

“You do, as long as it’s the right one,” he said. He thumped the table with his large hands to emphasize his argument. “I’d leave you alone if you weren’t making a stupid-ass decision, which you are.”

Pietros scoffed. “So the right decision is for me to be with you?”

Barca’s face blanked for a moment, then moved through an array of emotions. “Yes, it is,” he murmured, before leaning forward to swipe the second half of Pietros’ sandwich.

Pietros didn’t quite know how to react, so he said the first thing that came to mind. “Well, clearly it is. They’re obviously not feeding you enough over there, and someone needs to take care of you before you ruin yourself.”


	24. Mr. Cool (Pre-verse Moose!verse with kid!Duro and Agron)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-verse Moose!verse with kid!Duro and Agron.

_Bleat Beats_ was like Narnia, or Rivendell (Imladris in the Sindarin as Agron would say), and no one could tell the Frei brothers otherwise. It was full of records, cassette tapes, and the new compact discs grandpa said would change the store again. He mumbled something about having to buy the _White Album_ for the third time, but Duro was too busy practicing guitar, and Agron buried too deep in a book, to usually pay much attention. They just loved being around grandpa, in his shop among the regulars, enjoying the weekend in the city.

“Duro,” Grandpa called from his office. Duro put down his guitar and looked at the blisters already forming on his fingers from a weekend of practice. Grandpa said he’d have to work them up, and it would take a while, before the soreness went away. He edged into the office and smiled when he saw grandpa at his desk, sorting through his inventory books.

“You bellowed?” he asked.

Grandpa laughed. “Come here, you little smartass.” He held out a $20. “Go down to Nightingale’s and get us some coffee, sandwiches, and a dessert.”

“I think Agron will bite me if I try to pull him away from his book,” Duro said.

“You’re nine; I think you can handle this one yourself.”

Mom and Agron would have different feelings about that, but Duro wasn’t going to argue with his grandpa. He waved at Naevia when he entered the cafe. She was curled up in the back with her headphones on and a notebook in her lap. She waved to him, but didn’t budge from her place. She looked busy writing something, and he wondered if she was making another song again. Duro kind of loved Naevia, she was super talented, and was the one who told him he should practice guitar. She was all kinds of awesome.

He turned back to the counter and stumbled into two older men standing in line. One was taller than the friggin’ statue in Duro’s school yard, and the other just looked _cool_. James Dean, Bruce Springsteen, leather-jacket cool.

“Hey kid,” he said, “you should watch where you’re going. Don’t want to get hurt.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Duro said to them before he dashed around them to cut in line.

The tall one grumbled, but Mr. Cool just laughed. “Awww, don’t frown,” he said, “the kid’s just saving your figure from the apple pie.”

“I think,” tall guy said, “as the principal dancer among the two of us, you’re the one who needs to be worried.”


	25. BFFS (Duro & Nasir Capua Inc. 'verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months after _Every Move You Make_ for a Time Stamp Meme. Duro  & Nasir, set in the Capua Inc 'verse.

“Hey, Real Genius, you okay?” Duro asked when he found Nasir sprawled across one of the breakroom couches. He received a one-finger salute at first, but then Nasir shook his head and patted the seat next to him. “Shitty day?”

Nasir nodded. “I’ve been here for over twenty-four hours trying to crack some fucking code that I swear to god was written in Linear B. Your brother locked me out of my lab.”

Duro sighed. “He does that sometimes. He wants to take care of you, but he tends to bypass a warm compress and a cup of hot chocolate and go straight for the time-out.”

Nasir’s eyes widened. “Oh my fucking god, it _is_ a time-out. Who the hell does he think he is?”

“Agron Bauer, the dude who you’re kind of crazy over, and he kind of feels the same,” Duro said. He patted Nasir’s head. “You’ll get used to it.”

He frowned. “I don’t want to.”

Duro laughed low. “Yeah you do, bro.”

Nasir pouted and crossed this arms over his chest, looking for all the world like a child who actually was sent to the time-out corner. “I don’t have to admit to it though.”

Duro crossed his heart. “Scout’s honor, I’ll never tell.” He soothingly rubbed Nasir’s temples like he’d done for both Agron and Chadara until he head that distinct change in breathing pattern that meant sleep. He smiled to himself. “And to think, Crixus said I was a for-shit matchmaker. I'm the best damn one in this whole building.”


	26. We Know Your Name; We Just Don't Care (Mira/Kore bartender!AU )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mira/Kore bartender!AU for Alex from May 12th.

Working the first shift at _Temperance_ was always a bit of a pain in the ass. The first hour was spent cleaning the floors where the last shift missed it, taking down chairs, setting tables, getting everything ready for the start of business. A handful of people, usually school employees, trickled in around three-thirty in the afternoon looking for an after-work drink and some deep fried mac-and-cheese bites to stress-eat. The regulars and old-timers, the retirees, and the just plain alcoholics, all came in before the five-in-the-evening first rush. If there wasn’t a major sport's game, it was usually a calm evening. It was work that paid nothing for the waiters, slightly more for the cooks, and a bit more for the barbacks. Bartenders made the most of the employees thanks to decent tips. 

Mira was one of the lucky few on salary. She got it thanks to her ability to not fuck things up too badly, unlike Duro who once fucked up all the registers, or Castus, who often ended up drinking his paycheck. Agron’s mouth and temper had seen him banished to the kitchen, but it actually caused their typical bar food to _improve_ , so it worked out in the end between him and Donar. It wasn’t too bad, really. Mira had worked worse jobs. Sure, she had nothing resembling a typical schedule, or weekends, and holidays were something she laughed at because they never, _ever_ closed for a day unless they’d been rented out for a private party. 

Mira looked up from wiping down the taps when the door creaked open and a familiar perfume teased at her nose. She grinned, spotting Kore, hair in a messy bun, still looking gorgeous in sweats and flip-flops.

“All moved in?” Mira asked.

Kore nodded as she slid onto her usual seat. She tapped the wood of the bar. “Hit me.”

“You don’t drink,” Mira said. She grabbed a cup and some ice before brandishing the soda gun. “What’ll it be today?”

Kore drummed her fingers on the bar as she thought, the low light catching on her glittery blue nails. “I think I’ll live dangerously today and go with a Coke. I’ve earned the right to some extra calories and syrup.”

Mira nodded and fulfilled the order. Their hands brushed as she set the drink down, and they shared a secret smile. They’d met here, when Kore came in after being fired from her job as a nanny. She’d asked if she could get the Hollywood version of a bartender, even if she didn’t plan on buying a beer. Mira had charged her for a glass of Sprite and made herself comfortable. They’d bonded like that for almost a year when Duro had worked in the door way day beseeching God and all his angels to witness the miracle of one of them asking the other out. 

“Duro broke a nail while putting together our new bookshelf,” Kore said. “Expect him to come in bitching about his delicate hands.”

“We keep the _Hello Kitty_ Band-Aids around just for him,” Mira said. No one was in the bar yet, minus Gannicus who didn't care, so she couldn’t be accused of being unprofessional when she leaned forward and kissed the tip of Kore’s nose. Even if some asshole was present to say anything, she’d just flip him off. She knew Sura cared more about Mira’s happiness than some asshole who was probably only going to buy one Corona and complain about how the food in a fucking divebar wasn’t gourmet. 

Fingers tapped against her lips and she came back to the present. 

“No frowns,” Kore said. “Today is a good day.”

“Today is the best day,” Mira corrected. She teased the delicate skin of Kore’s wrist, tracing the flowing lines of her tattoo on the right one. “Tonight will be better.”

“After you take your shower and wash away the smell of cooking grease, smoke, and stale beer,” Kore agreed.

“With your assistance, of course,” Mira said.

Kore nodded. “I consider that a worthy sacrifice for the greater good of our bedsheets.”

“I can hear you,” Agron yelled from the kitchen, complete with gagging sounds. 

“Keep talking,” Castus added. He appeared in the cut-out window with a large grin on his face. Agron loomed behind him, wielding a spatula in a threatening manner.

Mira laughed when Kore snatched up one of the coasters and chucked it through the kitchen window right at the boys. 

“That’s my girl,” Mira said with pride.


	27. Gather Ye Rosebuds (Diona & Naevia GotA)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diona & Naevia GotA-era.

Diona was standing on the stairs to the main house, laughing as she peeked around the doorway to the spectacle inside. Naevia crouched down beside her, trying to catch a glimpse of the wealthy citizens of Capua Dominus and Domina were trying to woo for patronage. Naevia had never seen such finery outside of the few times she was allowed to venture into the city with their tutor.

“Little mice hanging around the doorways,” Melitta chastised. She wore a cream colored dress of expensive fabric, a sign of her station in the house. “If you two help me retrieve the wine, I will take you closer.”

“Truly, Melitta?” Diona asked. She fingered the loose strands of her hair. “We will not be punished?”

“As long as you stay to the shadows and do not cross paths of any of our guests, Domina will not be displeased. You both will soon be serving in the house; it is past time for you to witness it in all its glory.”

Naevia and Diona exchanged an excited glance as they followed Melitta to the wine storage. They weren’t often allowed to go down here either, so close to the cells of the gladiators. Naevia always wondered what happened behind that gate, though Diona often voiced her idle fantasies of the gladiators and their lives. She’d always been fascinated with them, ever since one of the kitchen slaves let slip that Diona’s father was a gladiator. She’d devoured all information of the games since and their elder Dominus, Titus Batiatus, had always humored them with lessons when he checked the progress of their education. He found value in educated slaves he had told them, and since both Diona and Naevia’s fathers were sharp-witted, he believed they would be as well. Naevia’s father was not a gladiator, so she was told. He had been scribe to Titus before fever had taken him. She could not recall his face, or that of her mother, though it mattered little when she loved so many here. 

“Do you think we shall gain a new patron?” Diona asked Melitta.

Melitta shook her head. “It is not for us to discuss. Any elevation of this House is elevation for us. We should seek its success at all times.”

Naevia nodded and took the lesson to heart. She admired Melitta, they all did, and any slave-girl who aspired to higher position knew to follow her example. She was close to Domina, and wore her personal mark on her flesh; advancement could be easily hampered by Melitta’s words. Melitta was respected even among the gladiators, who spoke with foul language and appeared to be lacking in all proper manners, yet were rumored to curb tongues in her presence. Naevia wished to hold such power one day. Now she was just to carry wine.

The heavy weight of the clay amphora was unfamiliar to Naevia’s hands. She kept her eyes on the stairs, praying to the gods she would not trip, as they followed Melitta back into the house. The kitchen was full of slaves sneaking sips of wine from near empty jugs. Melitta said nothing as she passed them, her look spoke enough. It was difficult not to laugh when Diona looked at Naevia and then tried to imitate Melitta’s look. Naevia had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep silent. 

There was a round table hidden in between hallway and walls; it kept the inner-workings of the slaves serving the guests from prying eyes. Melitta gestured for them to set their amphorae down as she began to pour fresh glasses. “You may stay here,” she said. “Do not venture from this place unless Domina or I call upon you. Of course, if Dominus commands, you shall obey.”

Diona and Naevia nodded. They held hands and Melitta gifted them with a pleased smile. “You are still so young,” she said. “Take joy in these days, for they shall not be seen again.”

They kept their heads respectfully bowed until Melitta slipped back into the mass of bodies, only waiting until she was out of sight to give into their laughter.

“She is not even that old, yet she speaks like an ancient crone,” Diona said.

Naevia made a face. “Would you not as well if made wife of Oenomaus? He is always so serious. Yet she must care for him; she was so distraught when he was injured.”

Diona scoffed. “He survived a fight with the Shadow of Death; she should be pleased to be with a man so blessed by the gods.” Diona pointed to the line of gladiators standing on display. “I hope to be gifted to such a man one day. It would secure my position.”

“Do you really?” Naevia asked. She was surprised to hear such; they were like sisters and few secrets were kept. “I thought you wished only to serve Domina.”

Diona shrugged. “She will only have one so close, and Melitta will hold that position until she is freed. Melitta favors you, and I am sure she has already spoken with Domina.”

Naevia frowned. “I do not think it so.”

“I’ve heard it,” Diona disagreed. “You must learn the value of gossip, Naevia.” She kissed Naevia until the frown disappeared from her face. “You should always smile so.”

Naevia tightened her hold on Diona’s hand. “I always shall with you at my side.”


	28. A Promise Remembered (Barca/Pietros Spartacus: Afterlife)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barca/Pietros Afterlife!AU. **Warning for Character Death**.

They had little time left to find Pietros. Barca knew the ways of the Underworld; he could hear the boats getting ready to sail. The Ferryman had many coming his way; more than when Crixus arrived on their shores. If they didn’t find Pietros now, Barca would have to continue on without Crixus’ aid. He could do it, but it’d taken even longer. It had already been over a decade in time. Even Auctus was starting to grow weary of the long mission. 

Barca would continue on alone, no matter the passing of years; his path was chosen and his feet were set.

 _Reward is given for decision made_ a voice roared through the cavernous rock hall. Barca turned to the faint shimmering of light that came trickling from a crack high above. He couldn’t hear anything else but the faint sound of humming. He knew Crixus and Auctus must’ve been yelling at him, telling him to stop, but Barca knew that sound. 

In the years later, when he recounted the story to friends old and new, Barca would never be able to explain how he found the rock stair. His feet never stumbled, just continued on, pulled by new purpose. 

Barca nearly stumbled when he found the alcove, hidden between the rock and the first summery scents of Elysium. He knew that bare back, the ripple of its skin, it’s soft feel, it’s salty taste. He knew those hands, long-fingered, seemingly delicate, and yet so strong. He knew that man, and the heart held within him. He was absent all adornment, save the worn cloth around his legs. A curious patch of it was missing, circular, almost in the shape of a coin. He did not wear the bracelet, earrings, or necklace Barca had purchased for him in life. They should’ve still been on him, if he died wearing them.

Barca had seen, of course, what had happened. He had roared in rage, and thanked the gods when Gnaeus was sent from the cliff. It was one thing to see, to have an idea, and another thing to know. Pietros did not even wish to pay Charon, so deep went his wounds.

“Pietros,” he said, the name torn from the very depths of everything that made Barca. 

Pietros turned in surprise, his hands dropped the thread he’d been winding around a spindle, and its orange thread spilled across the floor as it unraveled. He looked at Barca as if he was a Shade. Eyes blinked, fingers clenched, and then feet shuffled forward. He studied Barca, as if didn’t believe the man who stood before him could be there.

“You wore that last I saw you,” Pietros said.

“I died that night,” Barca said. His hand traced the faint mark forever now on his throat. “Reward was given for loyal service.”

Pietros’ brow wrinkled in confusion, and Barca had to force his hands to stay still. He’d often smooth that line, when times were different, and they yet lived. 

“You did not leave me,” Pietros said.

Barca shook his head; he could not form words, still could not believe Pietros had ever thought he would. It was testament to Barca’s own failings, and he’d spend all the rest of their time together rectifying it, if they were so graced with reunion.

The choice was solely in Pietros’ hands. 

Pietros came closer. His hand reached out and he traced the line on Barca’s throat with a single finger. Bara could not keep still. His hands cupped that cheek, feeling the skin tingle beneath his hands, as the warm of Barca seeped into the cold of Pietros.

No words passed as Pietros smiled and tilted his head up for expected kiss. Barca remembered to be tender, to be gentle, to be careful this time. Pietros’ fingers tangled in Barca’s hair, tugged him closer, and kept him there.

“If you ever leave me again…”

“Never if it remains within my power,” Barca swore.


	29. Comes With the Territory (Auctus/Duro Moose!verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quiet Me Auctus/Duro Moose!verse for callittheblues from May 17th.

Auctus was sketching on the balcony when the type of noise that could only come from a Frei-sibling-fight echoed through the alley way.

“I hope you choke on a mint and it fucking hurts like hell,” Duro yelled as he stormed out of the side door.

“Well I hope you fucking sneeze up something solid,” Agron yelled after him.

“Boys, do I have to come down there?” Auctus asked.

“Fuck you,” was the mutual response until Duro glared at his brother. “Don’t fucking say that to him,” he said to Agron. “You’re so fucking disrespectful sometimes.”

“You fucking cursed out my husband daily for the first three months of our relationship,” Agron shot back.

Duro made choking motions at Agron before he actually growled. “He fucking ripped your heart out on your first date. What? You’re the only one allowed to be super fucking overprotective in this family? Fuck you, you fucking asshole.” With that Duro stormed off; his combat boots echoed loudly on the cobblestones.

“Fine,” Agron yelled after him and slammed the side door.

Auctus turned to Moose at his feet. “Almost fifteen variants of the word _fuck_ in less than three overheard minutes. That’s a record, even for them.” He wiped the chalk dust off of his hands and walked back into the apartment. He propped the door open and stood by the elevator, waiting for Duro to arrive.

Moose trotted out, her leash clutched in her mouth with its end trailing behind her. Auctus patted her head when she plopped down at his feet. “Maybe, baby. Depends on how he’s feeling.”

The elevator dinged open and Duro came barreling out straight into Auctus’ arms. “I really fucking don’t like my brother sometimes,” he murmured into Auctus’ shirt.  
Auctus rubbed his back. “Ready to talk about it?”

Duro shook his head and burrowed closer. He balanced on one foot to lightly tap Moose’s paws until she squirmed her way in-between them.

“Ready for solving problems with ice cream?” Auctus asked. Duro lifted his head and just looked at him. “What?”

Duro’s thumbs rubbed the laugh lines around Auctus’ eyes. “My brother started talking about planning our wills, just in case, and all I could think was how fucking much I will lose it when you go. I mean, Ag’s going to go flat-out catatonic if Nasir goes before him, but like, I started hyperventilating just thinking about. And you know how Agron fucking gets; he’s read too many Russian novels and everything is tragedy with him.”

“Fucker needs to read some Terry Pratchett,” Auctus agreed.

“Right,” Duro said. He rested his head back on Auctus’ shoulder. “I know he does it out of love, but me not wanting to talk about our deaths does _not_ mean I’m in denial about anything. He asked me if it was because I planned on running again, and I swear to God, I almost punched him.”

Auctus was getting tempted to go the store and introduce Agron’s face to a wall, but he respected Nasir too much to do that; that didn’t mean he wasn’t go to call Nasir and have a little talk about Agron needing to watch his goddamned mouth.

“He does sometimes have the emotional intelligence of a tick,” Auctus said.

“I think you’re off a letter there,” Duro said. He sighed and stepped back. “Come on. Moose needs her walk, and I need my ice cream.”

Auctus stepped away to grab his keys and wallet, locking the apartment door behind him, before joining man and dog in the waiting elevator. Duro slipped his arm around Auctus’ waist as they started the descent.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “for everything.”

Auctus kissed his forehead in reply and let the comfortable silence fill the elevator.


	30. Purely For Artistic Purposes (Duro/Castus Art School AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duro/Castus Modern!AU for Kuriostet from May 17th.

“If you quote _Titanic_ I will hurt you,” Duro said. He glared at Castus from his seat. “I’m serious.” Castus laughed, which was unfucking fair when Duro was bare-ass naked under his robe sitting on a cold stool. He could’ve at least let Duro have _some_ dignity.

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be your line,” Castus said. He sharpened one of the pencils in his hand. “And you lost that bet, so drop the robe.”

Duro frowned. “How about you use your fucking imagination instead. I agreed to be your model; I never agreed to be nude.”

One of Castus’ eyebrows went up past the brim of his hat. “I’ve seen your hairy ass run down the street in nothing but shower sandals and _this_ freaks you out?”

“Hey, I had on _shoes_ and it was a lap of victory,” Duro huffed. “This is different.”

Castus put down his pencil and walked over. He tilted Duro’s chin up and carefully teased his lips, softly, meant to soothe rather than seduce. “Hey,” he said. His hands trailed down Duro’s throat to rest inside the fold of his robe, fingers teasing the metal bars through Duro’s nipples. “You’ve done this for me plenty of times before. Why so shy?”

Duro leaned forward, into Castus’ hands, and rested his forehead on Castus’ chest. “It’s just...the other times were for _you_. This is for your class. Your professor is going to see it. Your classmates will see it. My _brother_ will see it. We’re in a fucking studio that’s not our home. I can’t just fall asleep on our bed while you do your thing. I’m on display here and I’m just a little fucking embarrassed about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Castus agreed. He stepped back and pulled off his hat and placed it to the side. He pulled off his shirt, then started to unbuckle his belt when Duro’s mind caught up.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Chadara’s taking pictures of the city from her apartment for her project. It’s why she’s not in the studio with us right now. If you’re going to be naked and worried about my class seeing you; I’m going to be naked and letting Chadara get a picture of my bare ass while I paint you.”

“That’s a whole new definition of standing by your man,” Duro said. He couldn’t fault Castus’ logic or dedication though. “Fine, but you keep my brother far away from this.”

Castus saluted him before he dropped his jeans. He tapped his bare foot on the floor as he expectantly looked at Duro. “I’m waiting.”

“Oh no, I get to watch you walk back first,” Duro said. Seeing the dimples above Castus’ ass move in the generous natural light coming in through the windows was worth the moments of self-doubt. Duro couldn’t look at him as he slipped the robe off. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he sat back down on the stool.

“If you decide to show you inner-Picasso with this one I will also hurt you,” Duro said. He opened his eyes to find Castus giving him _that_ look. “Fuck you, do not do that now while Chadara is somewhere, probably with a telephoto lens.”

Castus just blew him a kiss and got back to work.


	31. The Worst Punishment In The Two Worlds ( Agron/Nasir Journeys 'verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anon's request of Paint Me, Agron/Nasir in Journeys 'verse. This doesn't quite fit into the main verse yet, so its home is here for the time being.

There was a whining wolf at Nasir’s feet who refused to cooperate. Nasir laughed as his ankles were nipped and then nuzzled. He leaned down and tapped the wolf on its snout with the end of his paintbrush. “You promised to do this for me. Now go over there and be all majestic,” he ordered. 

If a wolf could lope off in a sulk, Agron somehow managed it. He posed for all of five seconds before he was rolling around in the grass on his back. Nasir dropped his head and sighed. He had _wanted_ to do this in the mundane way of the mostly-human world he know lived in, but that was turning out to be impossible. He put the standard paintbrush and paints away and pulled out a set one of the Dragons had given him. The brush immediately readied itself as the paints warmed in Nasir’s hands. Nasir studied Agron, recalled memories of his wolf-form sleeping, running through the woods, tackling his brother, and passed it on to the brush. When the images started to form on the canvas, he deemed it safe enough to join Agron.

“You got your wish,” Nasir said. One moment a wolf was licking his hand, the next Agron’s human head was in his lap with a grin to rival the sun. “You’re such an ass.”

“I don’t like to stay still, in any form,” he said. He stretched his long limbs out and basked in the sunlight. “If you want to embrace this world, go grocery shopping on a Sunday.”

Nasir ran his fingers through Agron’s hair. “I’m not an idiot; I’ve heard the horror stories from Pietros. He makes Barca pay for deliveries you know.”

Agron nuzzled Nasir’s wrist. “If we were still in the city, I’d do that for you, but we’re out here now.”

 _Here_ was a large house, northwest of Boston, with lots of land surrounding them. It was truly peaceful, and somehow made it easier for Nasir to breathe. It’s not that he didn’t miss their apartment building in Quincy; he could go back anytime he wished to visit Spartacus and Sura and Crixus and Naevia, but the pack was _here_ , Auctus’ pigeons and all, and it felt like a home. Nasir wasn’t used to that, not really. He was enjoying the learning process of it all, though. 

“Chadara sent me a message. She wishes to visit us. I know you don’t want her where the pack sleeps, since she’s unknown, but we can stay at _The Temple_.”

Agron reached a hand up to caress Nasir’s cheek; Nasir leaned into the touch. “Thank you for understanding,” he said.

Nasir laughed. “Agron, you moved us over an hour away from everything just because you didn’t like the new taste of the air in Quincy. I would not bring a stranger-to-you on these lands. After you’ve met her, fallen in love like all do a little bit, then perhaps we shall discuss it. She has her own sanctuary to run, and is rarely from its doors.” He looked up as the paintbrush waved at him. “Ah, it’s done.” He gently shoved Agron away and stood up to see the end result. 

It was not what he expected. The images had Agron in his wolf-form, but it also had the whole pack, Mira included, showing various scenes of their lives, as human, wolf, ghost, and pigeon.

“That is not what I intended,” Nasir said. He frowned at the brush as it went idle. “I’ve used these before, and it’s always done what I’ve asked.”

Agron’s arms wrapped around his waist and he kissed the top of Nasir’s head. “You were thinking of our pack, and our family, and that’s what it painted.” He playfully bit the top of Nasir’s ear. “I love it.”

Nasir shook his head in despair. “This has never happened before. It’s only supposed to take the first few images I impart when it’s in my hands.”

He could feel Agron shrug behind him. “Magic works differently here.” He reached a finger out to touch and yelped when Nasir slapped it away. “It’s dry, Nasir.”

“I still don’t want your grubby little paws all over it,” he said. He slipped from Agron’s arms and started to pack up the paints. “I’ll carry it back; you can get the kit and easel.”

“You seem awfully certain of that,” Agron said.

Nasir gave him an unimpressed look. He had to keep the smile to himself when Agron immediately dropped his head and started to gather the things up. He had a truly magnificent pout on his face that didn’t go away even when Duro met them on the path to the house.

“If you were in wolf form, your tail would be in-between your legs,” he said to his brother.

“Nasir glared at me,” Agron said.

Duro patted his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sure you did something to deserve it.”


	32. Embrace It (pre-Agron/Nasir Adopted Family AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From that Auctus-adopts-everyone 'verse. Nasir pov, with pre-Agron/Nasir. Background Barca/Pietros and Auctus/Duro. For Spuzz who surprised me with a gorgeous graphic for Pietros, Nasir, and Naevia as a found family.

Nasir had found that he couldn’t study in his college’s library. He couldn’t study at home either, for the need of always finding _something_ to do, to feel useful. He’d tried the park, the river side, his car, friend’s apartments, bookstores, coffee houses, and even in a train station on a memorable occasion. Growing up in Sunnylake Children’s Home had made him used to studying with a certain amount of white noise and bustling about, but not _too_ much. When Auctus had adopted him and Pietros, there were still others in the house, so that buzz of noise and activity carried over. Now that Nasir was mostly on his own, what with Pietros either at school, tutoring, or out with Barca, Nasir was left scrambling for the best place he could relax enough to concentrate, but not relax _too_ much that he’d fall asleep.

“You should study here,” Duro-the-magic-bartender said. “Obviously not once the afternoon and evening rush hits, but we open at ten in the morning and outside of those needing a little liquid courage at lunch, there’s not much that goes on.”

Nasir looked up from his equations and slowly blinked at Duro. “I’m pretty certain the reason my dad adopted us was to get us away from hanging out in bars.”

“Yeah,” Duro said, “you rich elite favor private clubs, from what I understand. Your dad doesn’t seem to mind the less-exclusive leisure life though.”

Nasir rolled his eyes. “He has a thing for charity cases.” Something hit his forehead. Nasir looked down to find a lime-slice in the middle of his notebook. Duro only winked at him as he moved down the bar to serve a regular. He turned up the radio as he walked by, and while Bruce Springsteen sang about glory days, Nasir just laughed and worked his way through his assignment.

******************

God may not have played games of dice, but he sure as hell had a sense of humor when it came to Nasir. The _only_ place he could feel at home enough to get this accounting studying shit done, was a bar. At least Duro had stopped laughing at him two weeks ago. Now Nasir had his own spot, a glass of iced tea waiting for him, and a sandwich usually dropped off by Pietros before he went to help small children learn to read. 

Pietros could actually be the reincarnation of Mother Teresa, or at least an actual canonized saint, but whenever Nasir said that, dad got a displeased look on his face and told Nasir not to be an asshole. If Pietros wanted to dedicate his life to the greater cause of helping others, with little monetary return on such an investment, they were all _ordered_ to support him. Not that they needed to be; they all supported each other, but Nasir and Diona both viewed it from a business perspective. It’s not that Nasir didn’t empathize; he knew how lucky his whole family was to benefit from the kindness of strangers, but he just understood it more from an economic reality point-of-view. It wasn’t easy, or cheap, to do what Pietros wanted. It would require contacts, donations, and charity galas. Pietros was more about actively helping in the thick of things, rather than all the hoity-toity, upper-class, please-open-your-wallets-so-kids-can-have-textbooks bullshit that _also_ went along with attempting to run a charity or non-profit. He had a long way to go before he could make a _career_ of it, and Nasir couldn’t help but do cost-analysis in his head whenever Pietros’ spoke of a proposed idea. Diona assured him he wasn’t the only one, so she, at the very least, made him feel like less of an ass.

“Four legs good, two legs baaaaaaad,” Duro suddenly blurted out.

“Fuck you, Snowball,” a man answered. He was taller than Duro, with shorter, lighter hair, and an interesting sense of fashion if he thought that tie went with that shirt. “Until you’ve graded seventy-five essays on _Animal Farm_ , don’t bleat at me.”

Nasir felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as the man leaned over the bar and cupped the back of Duro’s neck. Dad had been smiling a bit more lately, looked more relaxed and wasn’t pulling his standard thirteen hour shifts. Nasir _really_ hoped that wasn’t just because of Duro, but considering it had succeeded where the kids and Chadara had failed, he knew it was just God laughing at him again. His fingers clenched around his hi-lighter and he decided he couldn’t stay to watch. He quickly shoved his notebook into his bag.

“Already finished?” Duro asked. The man with him turned to regard Nasir with curiosity. 

Nasir ducked his head and fingered with the patches on his messenger bag; the ones Dagan had sewn in the last time he was home. “I…uh…I forgot an appointment.”

“That’s not like you,” Duro said. He frowned, but let it pass without further comment. “Be safe, Nasir. Tell your brother and dad I said hi. I know I’ll see Naevia later.”

“Yeah, sure,” Nasir mumbled. He could feel eyes boring into his back even as he walked towards the door. He turned around once to find the new guy grinning at him.

“That’s Nasir?” he heard him ask Duro.

“Stop it,” Duro said as Nasir hurried out onto the street.

************************

“I think Duro might be seeing someone,” Nasir said. He let his feet hang off the end of Pietros’ bed and traced the constellations painted on Pietros’ ceiling with his eyes. When they’d moved in, dad had said they could decorate their rooms however they wanted. Pietros and Nasir had just watched _Firefly_ , and Pietros had insisted on a Space theme. All these years later, and he’d had yet to change the ceiling. 

“Yeah, he’s _seeing_ dad,” Pietros said as he sorted through his closet. He held up a shirt for inspection. “How does this look?”

“It makes you look like you’re twelve and will probably get Barca arrested,” Nasir said as he vetoed the striped-orange monstrosity. “And no, this guy was definitely not dad. He was younger, maybe a few years older than Duro. He was all button-down shirt and tie like. Legit gorgeous too, so it’s not like I can blame Duro.”

“Dimples?” Pietros asked.

“What?” Nasir asked. He shook his head at the purple t-shirt in Pietros’ hands. “I think that’s Naevia’s anyway.”

“Dimples,” Pietros said as he tossed the shirt aside. “Did the man have dimples?”

“Yeah,” Nasir said. He hadn’t _thought_ about them or anything. It’s not like the hint of that smile had haunted him.

“That’s Agron; he’s Duro’s brother.” Pietros turned to his dresser and started to dig through there instead. “He teaches eighth graders something like literature and then coaches them on how to slaughter each other on the football field. Duro’s seeing dad; you’re just going to have to deal and stop denying the truth.”

Nasir slid off the bed and pulled out a grey Henley. “There; casual but not overly-so, not too dressy, and you’ll be comfortable.”

“I want to look nice though,” Pietros said.

“You’re watching a film, in the park, in the early fall, at night. You’re going to be huddled together and romantic and you’re giving me a toothache just talking about it. This color looks good on you, take your black jacket, and do your best to share body warmth while still being publicly decent.” Even on his tip-toes he couldn’t reach the top of Pietros’ head from here, so he just patted his arm. “You’ll look fucking gorgeous, 'Tros.”

*********************

Nasir was in the bar reading David Sedaris’ _Me Talk Pretty One Day_ for his Hummanities elective when a shadow loomed over the first page of “Nutcracker.com.” 

“So, come here often?”

Nasir briefly looked up to see dimples and quickly flicked back to his book. “Seeing as how you’re co-dependently attached to your younger brother, you know I do.”

“Always so brutal,” Agron teased. He slid next to Nasir and tilted up the cover of his book. His long fingers covered half the page. “I prefer _Naked_.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Nasir said. He tried to ignore the soft laughing response, but it was impossible with Agron crowding his personal space. “I’m going to regret asking this, but is there something you want?”

He looked up when he was met with silence. Agron just smirked. “Too easy, little man.”

“If you ever fucking call me that again, I will slam your hand in the door,” Nasir calmly informed him. It would be a crime, to damage such fingers, but Nasir would only mourn for a little while.

Agron hung his head in defeat. “No nicknames; got it. I’ll just keep calling you Nasir.”

He actually mispronounced the last syllable, but Nasir found he _liked_ the way Agron said it, so he let it slide. “I’m sure your hand will appreciate that.”

“Hey,” Agron said, “let me buy you a real dinner. You’ve studied for the past three hours. The bar’s about to get rushed, and you’ve earned a real meal.”

Nasir carefully closed his book. He smoothed his fingers over the cover and sighed. He knew they’d get to this point eventually, he just had one major problem with it. “Your brother is dating my father.”

“It’s just a dinner,” Agron said. “I’m not proposing you become Duro’s brother-and-son-in-law in one night. That’s too much even for me.”

Nasir knew he should decline; he had learned the hard way about hope and being impulsive, but fuck it. Everyone else in his life was happy, or content, or getting there. Nasir was allowed to indulge; to have one meal with a man he’d been slowly getting to know over the past three weeks. He knew Agron hated lager, but liked scotch. He knew not to mention certain sports teams around the brothers, or he’d spend two hours learning their whole history. He knew Agron loved his job, even as it left him frustrated and drained; that he had a dog named Veritas and a goldfish named Max; that he loved teaching Dumas and Austen, but could pass on Hardy and Hemmingway. And he knew Agron had made it a point to get to know _Nasir_ , not because he was a Papakostas, or because he was someone else’s sibling, but because he found something about Nasir he liked, that had nothing to do with his last name or family wealth. Nasir would’ve doubted the sincerity, the darkest parts of his mind _wanted_ to, but he couldn’t.

“One dinner,” Nasir agreed.

“And possibly a dessert,” Agron said as he helped pack Nasir’s bag.

“Maybe,” Nasir said.

“And coffee after?” Agron looked so hopeful as he asked.

Nasir flipped his hair over his shoulder as Agron helped smooth down the bag’s strap. “Don’t push your luck.”

Agron grinned. “I can take dinner and a maybe-dessert as a start.”

Nasir didn’t bother to correct him; to say that this was it, and all there would be. He had a feeling, as he brushed against Agron’s chest when they squeezed out of the bar’s doorway, that it would be the first meal of many.


	33. Either/Or (pre-Auctus/Castus Metzger!verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castus has returned home from a tour of a duty. Set in the same modern!AU as the Metzgers. This is pre-Auctus/Castus. For sisterwinchester.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Auctus said. He was trying _really_ hard not to sound bitter as Castus lamented the latest pretty face to turn him down. “There are other fish in the sea.”

“Funny,” Castus said. “You always make the nautical jokes around me.”

“You _are_ a sailor,” Auctus said. He tried to focus on the paper in front of him, and not on the downturn of Castus’ full lips. “Besides, did you really expect some random guy to just wait around for you for five years? He laughed in your face when you asked him out the first time.”

“Not _any_ guy,” Castus said. “It was Corpsman Karimi, and he married a fucking Metzger. I had to do a joint-mission with one of those fuckers, the Recon one. How they let him into the Corps I’ll never know.”

“Someone had to get their quota up,” Auctus muttered. He felt a headache coming on; he was not up for another round of Castus’ Ex-Files. “Look, why don’t you just shake it off. You’re back in town for at least a half-year. Go out, find a pretty face, and do your thing. Just _try_ to remember you stealth training when you come home, and don’t wake the dogs.”

“Nah,” Castus shook his head. “I’d rather stay in and annoy you. I just got back from hell. I need to get you back into your bad habits. None of this good, clean-living shit you’ve been pulling off since I’ve been gone. You think you know a guy, and then you come home to find him eating a veggie burger.”

“I would like to live to see seventy,” Auctus said. He pushed away from his desk and straightened out his back. “Someone has to take care of us in our old age, and it sure as hell won’t be you.”

“I’m honored you think I’ll live to be old,” Castus said. He bumped Auctus’ shoulder as they padded down the stairs to the kitchen. “You know, months stuck on a floating city in the middle of the ocean gives you time to think.”

“I never would’ve guessed, Gilligan,” Auctus said. He tried to make for the fridge, but Castus hip-checked him away. 

“Sit the fuck down, we’re having Chinese. Your poor, deprived fat glands will thank me.” He pinched Auctus’ side. “You’ve fucking wasted away, Auc.”

“It’s called yoga, you jackass,” Auctus said. It had been a long ass time since he had some Chinese food though. “Get me—”

“—the friggin Spider Roll, I know. You’re so fucked up. Too good for a typical meal.” He placed their order, walking off into the living room, and making disgusted sounds at the change in the décor, before he finally returned. “Thirty minutes, and as I was saying, you get time to think while on the carrier.”

“And what secrets of the universe were revealed to you?” Auctus asked.

Castus grinned and shook his finger. “Well, that would be telling.”

Auctus rolled his eyes. “At least you’re no longer acting like a heartbroken teenage boy.”

Castus shrugged. “Eh, I had to do something typical, or you’d think I was replaced with a pod person again.”

“You willingly cleaned the gutters,” Auctus said. “Your own mother would think you were a pod person.”

Castus’ face suddenly went serious. “Thanks for watching out for her while I was gone.”

Auctus didn’t want to read more into that look so he shrugged it off. “No big deal.”

“Yeah, it is,” Castus said. “See, most people just think you’re an asshole.”

“Fuck you, so are you.”

“I am,” Castus agreed. “To the people that don’t know us, we definitely are, but _you_? You fucking watched my back and took care of my family, and my shit, all without me having to ask. You did it because you thought I wouldn’t notice. You did it because it’s your way of working into a person’s life, making yourself needed, so hopefully _this_ time they’ll let you stay around.”

Auctus shifted on his seat, frankly uncomfortable. “What, did you take a psychology course out there?”

“I had a lot of talks with the shrink,” Castus admitted. “She thinks I’d be better at counseling. We’re not talking about me though.”

“Aren’t we?” Auctus asked. “Aren’t we always?”

“I asked you out after you finally ended it with Barca,” Castus said. “Do you remember what you said then?”

Auctus did; he’d thought about it often before Castus shipped out, and even more when he’d finally left. He’d lived with the what-ifs and regrets and what-could-bes for so long, he was almost terrified of the right-before-hims. “I said we’d be better friends than lovers.”

“Do you still think that?” Castus asked.

 _No_. “I’m not sure,” he said.

Castus let his fingers rest on top of Auctus’ own and smiled. “Liar, liar.”


	34. School Days ( Pre-Auctus/Duro Teacher!Auctus and Dad!Duro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern!AU, Pre-Auctus/Duro, with Auctus as a teacher. Also Kid!Fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For gaygreekgladiator who requested: _Ducky, Auctus as a teacher and Duro's picking up his child/niece/nephew/godchild/next door neighbor_.

“Your moms are late today, Maggie,” Auctus said to one of his students. He didn’t approve of late parents and the lack of respect it showed for both their children and the teachers. Maggie’s mothers weren’t normally late, and they were always full of apologies, small smiles, and blushing cheeks when they _were_ , but it’d been over half-an-hour.

Maggie giggled and her head full of dark curls shook. “Papa is picking me up today. He’s always late. He blames it on Uncle Agron, who blames it on Uncle Nasir.”

Auctus didn’t know Maggie _had_ a father. He remembered seeing a name that was neither Diona or Chadara’s on Maggie’s paperwork, and a signature that differed from theirs on her homework assignments as well, but he always assumed it was a sitter. The man who came to a squealing stop in front of the school did little to impress him.

“Papa,” Maggie yelled, clearly far more overjoyed to see the man than Auctus.

“You’re late,” he informed the young man who emerged from the car. He had the same dark eyes as his daughter; full of just as much mischief too.

“Sorry, dude, stuff happens,” he said. He gathered Maggie in his arms and heaved her up high. “And did my baby girl have a super awesome day?”

“The most awesome,” Maggie said. She placed her hands on her father’s cheek and patted it. “Uncle Agron?” she asked. It was far too knowing for a third grader.

“Is so not awesome,” her father said. 

“Your vocabulary is so not awesome,” Auctus said. He didn’t like the looks of the man. Raggedy jeans and a black t-shirt seemed so below the subtle sophistication of Diona, Chadara, and Maggie.

“Sorry, bro.” He held out a hand. “I’m Duro, Maggie’s dad. I get her all to myself every other weekend. I don’t want her to feel too pressured to act older than her age, what with skipping the grade and all. I suppose we can use _majestic_ instead.”

Auctus frowned, but he took the man’s hand. “I work hard to foster Maggie’s intelligence, sir. I’d liked it to stay that way.”

“And I’d like her to know that book smarts ain’t crap if you don’t know how to relate to the Everyman. Still, she likes you as a teacher, so I guess you can stay.” He winked at Auctus and turned with a deliberate swish of his hips. “A little thanks for watching her,” he called as he walked off.

Maggie laughed at them, and in that moment, Auctus felt like the whole world might be doing so as well. He made a mental not to follow up on this Duro. Purely for Maggie's sake, of course.


	35. Must Love Dogs (Or At Least Their Owners) (Pre-Barca/Pietros)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Barca/Pietros Modern!AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For gaygreekgladiator who requested: Barca/Pietros, meet when one of them is walking their dog in a park

“Ronan, no!”

That was the only warning Pietros had before seventy-five pounds of mutt came flying into his back. He managed to turn himself over, only to suffer the indignity of Ronan’s canine tongue. This was really not turning out to be his afternoon. 

“Why do you never love me this much when it’s time to cut your nails?” Pietros asked. “Only in the park am I your favorite vet tech ever.”

“Pietros, Christ, I am _so_ sorry. He just pulled the leash right out of my hands,” Barca, Ronan’s owner apologized.

Considering how large Barca’s hands were, and how strong the man was, Pietros knew that was no small feat.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Clearly he just wanted to greet me outside of the clinic.” It wasn’t the first, and hopefully not the last, time Ronan had done such. It was starting to become an almost daily thing at this point. Pietros knew sneaking those extra treats to the beast would eventually pay off.

“He usually waits for me to walk him over,” Barca grumbled. He wrapped the leash around one hand, and helped pull Pietros out from under his mutt-jail with the other. “We do have to stop meeting like this.”

Pietros nodded. “Between Ronan’s vet bills and my dry cleaner wondering about all the grass stains, I agree.”

“I have a condo which lacks in grass and has doors to lock out enthusiastic mutts,” Barca offered.

If it wasn’t for the dog slobber on his shirt, Pietros would’ve thought he was dreaming. “I’m willing if you are,” he said.

In retrospect, the dog slobber and grass stains were completely worth it.


	36. Never Lick a Dead Man's Hand (Diona & Pietros CSI!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diona & Pietros friendship. Part of the CSI/Spartacus fusion fic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For gaygreekgladiator who asked: Diona/Pietros friendship, CSI AU

Diona really hated her job sometimes, and tonight was one of those nights. She was slumped against her locker when Pietros found her. Everyone else had given her a wide-berth after she returned from helping retrieve a floater.

“It’s only one in the morning and I smell liked water-logged decomp,” Diona whined as soon as she saw his kind face.

Pietros smiled, though he didn’t come closer. “I would hug you, but Barca would never forgive me for bringing the smell home. He goes through enough shit to wash it away before he gets in the car each night.”

And yeah, Diona should probably not complain to the man who lived with a Medical Examiner and had to share a bed and a shower with him. Pietros, at least, could understand her frustration though. No one liked a floater call. 

“I went out and bought you some more lemons and your own bottle of tomato juice,” Pietros said. “Shower’s clear just for you.”

Diona sighed in relief. _This_ was why she loved her job, because there were Audio/Visual techs like Pietros who went out and bought things to help wash away the stench of decomp so you didn’t have to bother the poor convenience store clerks who suffered enough without the stench of death clogging up their stores. 

“You’re the best, Pietros,” she said, and honestly meant it.

“Shitty day doesn’t need to stay shitty,” he replied. “I’ll hug you after you’re clean. I’ll even make the fancy hot chocolate; the kind stolen from Duro’s stash that only _Auctus_ gets to drink.”

Seriously, Pietros really was the best thing ever.


	37. A Summer Away (Kore/Laeta Regency AU pt. 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kore/Laeta Regency AU for Jan. Set in the same 'verse as [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/808686/chapters/1526456) drabble.

The heat of the summer day felt stifling inside of the carriage, though Laeta found much to enjoy in her companion on their journey to Brighton. Laeta had been invited by one of the lesser royals, and of course she had to be a kindly neighbor of charity to bring dear Kore along. They were alone in the carriage, as their escort traveled in his own carriage with his hired guard, all for the sake of propriety. 

The sweltering sun left a pleasant flush on Kore’s cheeks, and a tighter curl to her hair which had started to wisp away from its constraints.

“Something has caught your eye?” she asked.

Laeta tugged her gloves off, thinking little of propriety in the face of such weather.

“It often falls to the same thing of beauty,” she said as she smoothed the green cloth down. She leaned forward and let her fingers slide over the bare skin of Kore’s arms, almost turned golden with the short sleeves currently in fashion. “As you well know.”


	38. Got Any Fours? (Crixus/Naevia Capua Inc. 'verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naevia/Crixus modern!au; set in the Capua Inc. verse. For Jan who wanted Crixus/Naevia High Stakes poker. Knowing nothing about poker (or most cards games, I'll admit it), I went with this.

Naevia could feel the tension in the room as she shuffled her cards. Crixus sat across from her and glared down at his hand. She licked her lips, tasting the sweat there, and watched as it distracted him for a moment. She daintily moved through her cards again.

They’d been on this stake-out for two weeks now. Naevia didn’t off go this deep into the reconnaissance aspects of the field, better suited to observing undercover as an unassuming student or office worker, but Oenomaus needed a subtle touch for this one, and Naevia was the only partner Crixus had who didn’t burn things down on a regular basis. For the past fourteen days it’d been nothing but them, the stifling heat of the summer, random bits of take-out, the occasional observation, and the blue Bicycle deck. Naevia remained the winner of all the games. 

“So, Crixus, what’s your answer?”

He pursed his lips and looked at her over his cards. “Go Fish.”


	39. Never Anger a Ghost (actual-dragon!Castus from Journeys verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Alex, who requested anything involving actual-dragon!Castus from _Journeys_ verse.

“Fucking dragons can’t be trusted,” Agron growled. He took another sip of his beer and glared at the man currently talking to Barca. He was killing the bar, so to speak, and Agron didn’t approve of a dragon in _The Temple_. At least not a dragon that had lied about being a wizard.

“ _Do not meddle in the affairs of Dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup_ ,” Auctus quoted. 

Agron growled at the ghost and resumed his stare down. He felt a rush of victory when Castus’ shoulders tightened. 

Castus turned and blew a small set of flames Agron’s way. “Watch the eyes, or I’ll burn that tail,” he warned.

Agron’s pack was around him before he could respond; Mira and Nasir included.

“Wolves never know how to take a joke,” Pietros said as he pushed through with a tray of beers. “I will only say this once: you dare to destroy my home and place of business, I will have Barca skin all of you.”

Castus tilted his head. “I can accept these terms, Sprite. Wolves? Siren? Wizard? Ghost?”

They all turned to Agron, since he took place as their leader. He remembered how Sura had cautioned him to be reasonable; that Auctus had told him Castus would be a great ally when Sedullus moved against him and Aurelia; that Nasir had begged him not to get into any more fights before the full moon.

“Acceptable,” he replied, though he wasn’t happy about it.

His brother, ever loyal, playfully bared his teeth at Castus as he passed. Castus smiled after him, and made to follow Duro to the back, but he suddenly froze when Auctus appeared at his side.

“Don’t even think about it, or I will bring the force of the Reapers down upon your head,” Auctus hissed in a voice that sounded like a thousand souls of the dead.

Agron leaned back into Nasir’s arms as he took a long pull of his beer. “This night just got wonderful,” he said.


	40. Betty Crocker Wasn't Real (Crixus/Naevia - baking a cake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crixus/Naevia modern!AU for callittheblues who asked for Crixus/Naevia - baking a cake for someone's birthday

“Why can’t we just use one of the box mixes?” Naevia asked. She had flour in her hair, egg yolk on her shirt, and whatever was in the bowl was not going to be edible no matter how often Crixus frowned at it. 

Crixus looked up at her as if she spoke in a foreign language. She hadn’t seen his eyes go that big since he asked her to marry him.

“What?” Naevia asked.

“This is for my mother,” he said. He looked down at the mess of their kitchen counters. “If we use a box mix, she will know. There will be no forgiveness for such an act.”

Naevia didn’t ask why they had to be the ones to make the cake this year. She knew it was some stupid family ritual about Naevia becoming the new spouse, and that traditions were important, but this was too much. Crixus would be scrapping dry cake batter off the ceiling.

“Can’t we buy her a cake then?” Naevia asked. “I know it’s not the point, or the tradition, but Crixus, I don’t think your mother wants salmonella for her birthday.”

“It’s the gesture,” Crixus argued.

Naevia cupped his chin and kissed the tip of his nose. “We’ll make her a card, and buy her a cake everyone can eat. If the home-baked goods are _that_ important to her, I will make her a batch of cookies next week.”


	41. If Only for a Night (Auctus/Barca GotA-era )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auctus/Barca GotA-era drabble for kuriositet.

The walls of the ludus were cool against their backs as the sweat dried on their skin. The night air was welcome, even if it brought the stench of unpleasant things. Barca’s lips traced the lines of Auctus chest, his fingers soon following the in their wake. His breath was a pleasant warmth that kept Auctus from drifting into sleep.

Auctus’ fingers played in Barca’s hair, twirling the braids and twists round and round until he’d trapped his own hand. “Do you ever think of sons?” he asked.

They did not speak much of their pasts; too much pain there to speak of, even when Auctus knew how Barca came into their hands.  
“I have only known men,” was Barca’s murmured reply.

It did not reveal his true thoughts, and Auctus would not push when he could see the sudden stiffening of Barca’s spine, but he would recall this night, if they ever found freedom. Perhaps then he’d asked if Barca ever dreamed of daughters.


	42. A Fitting; Auctus/Duro Modern!AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For callittheblues who asked for _Duro having to be fitted for a suit for Agron and Nasir's wedding and hating every moment of it, much to Auctus' amusement? :)_ when I made the call for Ducky prompts.

“For the record, I’d like to lodge an official complaint to the powers that be. Why can’t I just take something off the rack?”

Auctus looked up from the catalog he was paging through at the sound of Duro’s whining. He’d never seen the man look more miserable and that included every single time his beloved Jets and Cubs inevitably fell apart during their respective sport seasons. For all his antics and bravado, Duro never quite liked being on _display_ and forced to stand on a platform with mirrors around him while a relative stranger wrapped a tape measure around his body, made notes, and various sounds of disapproval, was pretty much the seventh level of Duro’s own personal hell.

It probably made Auctus a horrible partner seeing as how he’d enjoyed every moment of every single suit fitting appointments so far. He was almost sad this was the final one.

“Because you promised Nasir, under threat of Laeta and Kore’s disapproving disappointment, that’d you’d clean up nice for your brother’s wedding and do so without complaint so that _Agron_ won’t make another last ditch bid for a ceremony on the beach all barefoot and in swim trunks. Nasir’s a traditionalist; you’ll both have to deal. Besides, I have a vested interest in seeing your ass nicely displayed in a pair of trousers, even if it is for someone else’s wedding.” Auctus raised a finger to stop what he knew Duro would say next. “And for the last time, just because _we_ got married in t-shirts and jeans does not mean that’s a standard anyone else should follow. I had planned to wear a tie until you spilled bleach all over it.”

Duro rolled his eyes. “For the last time,” he mocked Auctus’ words, “that was an _accident_.” 

“Because you always carry bleach around the bedroom,” Auctus said.

“It was in our bathroom, thank you very much, and you know I stress-clean.” He jumped suddenly and glared down at the tailor, Mr. Griggs. “Fucking excuse you, watch the hands, bro.”

“Duro, be nice to the man with the fabric shears and needles who has control over how comfortable or uncomfortable the fit of your trousers will be,” Auctus warned. He smiled when Mr. Griggs gave him a little nod of thanks. “You'll have to excuse him. We don’t usually let him out around the full moon for perfectly justifiable reasons, as you can see.”

“And suddenly I understand with striking clarity why Barca divorced you,” Duro said. His sly grin softened any supposed blow dealt with the words. “It takes more patience than that man has in all of his hair and height combined to deal with such an asshole.”

That wasn’t too far off the mark, so Auctus just shrugged and turned to the next page of the catalog. If Duro didn’t watch his mouth, he’d end up with a cummerbund. Auctus knew Mr. Griggs could work it in somewhere.

“I should thank him one day,” Duro softly said. “His massive loss was my eternal gain and all that.”

Maybe Auctus would nix the cummerbund. A waistcoat would be much more attractive. “You still need to apologize to Mr. Griggs.”

Duro dramatically put a hand over his heart. “Mr. Griggs, Master Tailor, Sir, I offer my sincerest apologies for any insult I may have made towards you and your craft on this day, the twentieth of August, two thousand and thirteen. I am truly grateful for your skill and your willingness to move up my appointment for the final fitting by a week due to circumstances outside my control, also known as my brother’s impatience. I am one of those poor ruffians of the world who has decided life should be lived outside fitted shirts, cufflinks, and tie pins. Dress shoes give me nightmares and the idea of a button-up anything that covers my throat makes me feel claustrophobic. I would sooner jump off a cliff than wear a suit coat, and while it is wrong for my personal preferences to pass judgment on your occupation, I use sarcasm, whining, and humor as a defense mechanism and a survival skill.”

Mr. Griggs sat back and stared at Duro for a moment before he turned his attention to Auctus. “Now I finally understand why you married this one. God help us, he’s perfect for you. Your mother would be proud.”

Auctus grinned at the compliment and settled back into his seat. He got comfortable and watched as the final measurements and finishing touches were completed. He’d already had a promise from Oenomaus to keep the suit safe in case Duro got clumsy with bleach again. Everything would work out fine in the end, only going wrong in the typical way all weddings did, and hopefully Nasir wouldn’t develop a stress ulcer before he even got to his vows. 

Auctus glanced up again and smiled to himself. Besides, it’d be so much fun getting Duro _out _of that suit in the end.__


	43. Fair Winds Castus/Auctus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after [this](http://antiquecompass.tumblr.com/post/51043324067/ficlet-amuse-me-auctus-castus-for-mareen) ficlet. For Alex.

After four months on a last minute mission with some fucked out of their heads Navy SEALs and Intelligence Officers, all Castus could think about was getting home. He didn’t tell anyone he was on his way until he finished all his meetings and debriefings tucked away in a darkened corner of an old office at Pax River. He didn’t want to raise anyone’s hopes until he was free to talk, or make any plans until he finally got out of the clutches of a joint task force that loved to tap Castus and his ability with languages. 

When he was finally dismissed and granted his leave, his first call was to his mom. She spent the first fifteen minutes both yelling at him for not e-mailing enough, and praising Auctus for being such a nice man. She didn’t even bothered with subtlety anymore.

“You know they’ve repealed that horrible law,” she said for the fifth time.

“Mom, I promise, I’m working on it,” he swore.

“See that you do, Castus. See that you do.” It was tone that would make even a Rear Admiral pause to consider the consequences of his actions.

His next call was to Pietros, Auctus’ fellow part-time yoga instructor and a decent source of gossip surrounding their mutual friends.

“They actually let you back in the country?” Pietros asked. “I thought we had quarantine laws to stave off the next Typhoid Mary.”

“I hope you pull something and can’t have sex for two months,” Castus growled. 

“Unlike you, I take precautions,” Pietros said. “To answer you ever-leading questions, no, Auctus isn’t here. He’s not teaching today either. It’s Uncle Auctus-Niece Athena bonding time. I hope you’re ready for a teddy bear tea party.”

Castus couldn’t stop grinning as he waited in traffic. “I think I can live with that.”

D.C. area traffic was actually its own special level of hell, so Castus wasn’t really surprised when it took him an hour longer than planned to get to Auctus’ house in Fairfax. The drive from Pax River was long enough without running into the mess on the Beltway, but after months removed from major cities Castus almost reveled in it. 

It was just past two in the afternoon when he finally pulled into Auctus’ drive. The gutters needed cleaning again, but everything else looked in order. He grabbed Auctus’ mail and used his key to sneak inside. 

Auctus’ rich laugh matched with Athena’s high-pitched giggles echoed from the kitchen. Castus quietly snuck up on the scene, and grinned widely at the sight of both Auctus and Athena in suit jackets and tiaras. There was patriotic bunting decorating the room and a poster full of glitter and glue proclaiming _Athena-Spotty Stripes 2016_.

“I see you’ve accepted the party’s nomination,” Castus called out.

“Castus!” Athena yelled. She shot off her chair and into his arms. “Did you bring me anything?”

“Athena,” Auctus admonished. 

Castus dug out the small bracelet of painted wooden beads he’d bought in a marketplace somewhere classified. “I certainly didn’t get this for Auctus. It clashes with his eyes.”

Athena hugged him tight and pressed a loud smacking kiss to his cheek. “I’m glad your home. Uncle Auctus got grumpy.”

“Uncle Auctus is always grumpy,” he whispered into her dark curls. He took a moment to breath in Athena’s scent, so far removed from anything he knew the last four months, before letting her go. “Now, we should get back to your celebratory tea party. I hear Vice President Nominee Spotty Stripes requires scones to function.”

“We’ve switched to cranraisins,” Athena said. “Mommy says they’re better.”

Castus didn’t realize cranraisins now came in Oreo size or style. He raised an eyebrow at Auctus who only shrugged. Castus took his seat between Auctus and Miss Whalepole (rumored nominee for Secretary of the Navy in a victory) without further comment.

“Glad you’re home,” Auctus said. His hand was a warm comforting weight on Castus’ knee. “You’re even in one piece.”

“I still have sand in unmentionable places.” He waited until Auctus had his tiny cup of apple juice near his lips before he continued. “Want to lend a thorough helping hand?”

The reaction was worth the clean-up duty he’d definitely have for spilled apple juice on the floor and table.


	44. Game Night Auctus/Duro, Barca/Pietros Modern!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Alex who wanted bonding, possibly with board games.

It started off one night when Pietros’ car broke down a block from Auctus’ house. His cellphone was dead but he knew Auctus was home, so he swallowed down any awkward feelings that came with visiting his boyfriend’s ex-but-current-best-friend and knocked on the red-painted front door just in time for _Jeopardy!_. 

Duro answered the door, already in a pair of Captain American pajama pants and a t-shirt that should’ve been used to clean out gutters. There was a huge bowl of buttery popcorn in his arms and a roll of paper towels stuck under his chin.

“Pietros!” he greeted with enough enthusiasm to make the neighborhood dogs bark.

“Duro,” Pietros said. “Sorry to bother you guys, but my car’s dead. And so is my phone. And at this point my brain’s starting to go that way too.”

“Sucks, bro,” Duro said. He shuffled backwards. “Come in, dude. Cop a seat on the couch before Grumpy McGrumps gets out of his shower. I’ll grab my phone so you can call Barca.”

“I can just use Auctus’ phone,” Pietros offered as Duro carefully set the popcorn down on the coffee table.

“Nah, man. He got rid of the landline after he realized starting off every dinner cursing out a telemarketer wasn’t good for his blood pressure. I had a talk with his doctor, and we all agreed it was for the best. Sit, eat some popcorn, and watch some Alex Trebek,” Duro insisted. 

It was only halfway through the first round, sinking into the comfortable thing of wonder that was Auctus’ couch, that Pietros realized how relaxed he felt. It was a good, to be in Auctus’ home absent the tension that Pietros usually felt. The few times he’d been over in the past he felt wrong occupying a space Barca used to live in with Auctus. Pietros didn’t know why this time was different, but he had a feeling it was the pierced-and-tattooed loudmouth sitting next to him and yelling _Who is Oscar Wilde, you uncultured swine!_. The first few times they’d all hung out Duro had been damn near silent and spent most of the time excusing himself to clean any and everything. In fact, Pietros was sure this was the first time he’d seen Duro in shortsleeves. It was a marvel all of its own. 

He was so into the game, trying to defeat Duro at Potent Potables, that he failed to notice Barca’s arrival until he felt the familiar tickle of long braids and the smell of spice that only came with him.

“What is I Come with Jumper Cables and a Cell Phone Charger for $600, Alex,” Barca said.

The second time came about from deliberate planning. Duro was hankering for a game of _Clue_ and claimed it was boring with only Auctus and Agron. Pietros drove over with Barca, laden down with a bottle of wine, pita chips, and Barca’s homemade hummus, because Barca took guest and hospitality rules to the extreme. Auctus opened the door this time, a look of relief on his face, as the raised voices from the dining room spilled out into the night.

“I think Chadara should totally be Professor Plum,” Duro argued. “Just take Mrs. White and shut the fuck up, Agron. Nasir got Mr. Green fair and square.”

“We’re Mrs. Peacock again aren’t we?” Barca asked. 

Auctus sighed and took the wine. “Should’ve brought whiskey instead.”

The third time was either a charm or a pattern, Pietros couldn’t decide which. All he knew was that he was halfway home when Duro sent an urgent text with an alert so obnoxious Pietros almost smashed into a Lexus. 

“What the actual fuck, Duro?” he asked once he arrived at Auctus and Duro’s place.

“Monopoly,” Duro said. “It waits for no man.” He held out a bowl of Utz Crab Chips. “Chip?” he asked.

Pietros made a face and shook him off before stumbling inside. He dropped down next to Barca and frowned at the piece placed in his spot. 

“Why did I get the boot?” he asked.

Auctus looked up from where he was arranging the money. “Because apparently Agron and Duro used to pelt them at each other when they were kids; or maybe that was as current as last week. I’m not entirely sure, honestly. I just came home to a board cleared of hotels and the money everywhere. We only have four pieces now and it was either boot or iron. Duro will legit punch you if you try to take the dog.”

“Your boyfriend’s not alright,” Pietros said. 

Auctus just shrugged his shoulders. “He makes life more interesting and claims the games keep me from pulling a Miss Havisham.”

By the time Duro had his hotel on Park Place Pietros didn’t think Auctus still felt so generous about his boyfriend’s eccentricities and ability to win all the board games ever, but it was hard to remain pissed when Duro started singing _I’m In the Money_. 

The fourth time wasn’t even a game, just a random Saturday night when it was too cold to do much of anything but stay inside. 

“No game?” Pietros asked when they arrived.

Auctus shook his head. “Duro claims we’ve advance beyond the board game stage of bonding.”

“Now that it doesn’t feel like we’re all going to choke to death because of the nerves and the tension, I thought we could advance to the movie stage,” Duro declared as he strolled in from the kitchen. He had the huge bowl of popcorn in his hands again. “ _Back to the Future_ marathon, anyone?”

Barca gave Duro an obvious look, and Pietros worried for one solid minute if he was about to curse Duro out for any and all presumptions.

“You’re a little fucked up, but you’re not wrong,” Barca said.

Duro grinned as if it was the best compliment every paid to him. “Aww, Barca, you sound just like my mom when you say that.”


	45. A Short Story Agron/Nasir Canon!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Steorie. Set pre- _War of the Damned_.

Training with the spear was starting to take its toll on Nasir. He had grown accustomed to bruises from his lessons, the hits from training with wooden sticks and shields leaving their marks on unblemished skin. He had started to develop calluses from the sword pommels and once soft hands were now constantly decorated with busted knuckles and nicks and cuts. The spear was an entirely different weapon. The feel of the flat side of a blade compared little to the long bruises across his stomach from a wooden pole. His hands were full of splinters now, a requirement to build up his grip and to keep him from flinching in battle. He’d learned to fight in a different way, jumping and twisting and diving in a manner he never had imagined before. 

He was proud of his own progress, recalled the memory of Oenomaus’ pleased smile the first time Rabanus had pushed a spear in Nasir’s hands, but he still hated the mornings greeted with a body sore and battered. He was used to sleeping for few hours at a time, waking before dawn to see a whole household taken care of, but he would never grow used to his whole body aching and bruised.

Nasir struggled to sit that morning and hissed when Agron wrapped an arm around his waist. Agron made a small sound in the back of his throat and loosened his hold, running the tips of his fingers over Nasir’s stomach, right under his scar and above the low line of a long, nasty mark.

“Rabanus threw you across the dirt again?” Agron asked.

“His aim is ever true,” Nasir grumbled. 

“He is an old gladiator, a true veteran of the arena, long in Batiatus’ house. He was there even before the fucking Celt. There is no shame in defeat at his hand,” Agron swore.

It was not shame Nasir felt. He knew it was an honor to be trained at first Oenomaus and then Rabanus’ hand, much as it had been an honor to be the last personally taught by Spartacus. He was simply weary and more eager to take on scouting duty at the moment rather than more harsh lessons. 

“I grow tired of tasting dirt,” Nasir said instead, knowing Agron waited for a response.

Agron did not answer in words, instead settling for a surprised laugh that sent a warm burst of air across Nasir’s neck. 

“Do you have time to linger this morn?” he asked. 

Nasir nodded. “Though your presence remains more in demand than mine.”

Agron kissed the top of Nasir’s head. “Let Crixus and Spartacus argue on their own. If Gannicus can stay in bed until midday, I can indulge for a time. There is a story I would tell you.”

Nasir carefully shifted until he faced Agron. For all they had shared, their pasts still remained mostly of mystery. It was not an easy thing to speak of, or explain, to another when there was so much to tell. Or too little in Nasir’s case, when he knew Agron did not wish to here of kindness from Roman hands. It was easier for him to hate the many rather than the few, and Nasir knew he had good reason to hold his grudges. 

Nasir was aware that for Agron any mention of his family brought a pain Nasir could never truly comprehend. Agron had experienced the loss of something Nasir was just learning to understand. Even the memory of Nasir’s brother remained a hazy shade mixed with all the other faces and voices to come later in his life. For Agron there were still times when he looked at his hands and saw his brother’s blood. There were rare moments like the one right now though, when Agron’s voice went soft and pleased, that meant there was a good memory to be shared. Nasir considered each one a gift, an act of trust that spoke of a relationship deeper than simple attraction and a shared bed.

“I am certain many have shared tales of my brother’s training with you. He spent more time in the dirt than on his feet at first,” Agron said.

“Crixus and Spartacus have both spoken of him with pride. They said he was never defeated in spirit,” Nasir said.

Agron’s smile was small, but precious. He seemed to be looking through Nasir even as his hands gripped Nasir’s own. 

“He was always stubborn, and rarely saw the need to show dedication to those who judged him. Ever able to make friends though, even with that mouth on him. Uncle always claimed Duro was better suited for diplomatic missions. He had a temper much like mine, yet his laughter was contagious. He often tried to prove himself before he was ready for such a test, but there was no stopping Duro.”

Agron rarely spoke Duro’s name, so Nasir kept a reverent silence as he waited for Agron to continue.

“When we still nothing but long arms and gangly legs he boosted that he was the best with the spear among the boys of our clan. He could barely carry it at the time, of course, the spear was twice the size of him, yet he _insisted_. Somehow he learned to balance it and meet his target, but it was still sight to see him carrying a pole better suited for a grown man. 

Nasir allowed himself to smile at the image, and was pleased when Agron responded in kind.

“There was an older boy, Ingo, poised to the master of the hunt when he came of age. He challenged my brother, considering it an easy victory to take down a boy half his size. Even then everyone though Duro’s tongue his only true weapon.” Agron grinned. “Ingo didn’t even think Duro worthy of a defensive stance. My brother knocked him in the gut with the end of the spear, then the nose, then whacked him on the back of the head before forcing him down into the dirt. He left the whole village speechless as he handed me his spear and informed me to tell mother he was off to play with the wolves.”

“I suppose I just need to find some wolves to play with,” Nasir said.

“Saxa and Lugo,” Agron answered. He rubbed his thumbs over the blisters on Nasir’s palms. “You will master it.”

“You cannot know that,” Nasir said.

Agron grasped Nasir’s chin. “After all you’ve accomplished in so little time? I have no doubt.”

Nasir’s whole body was still covered in bruises and cuts with more to come by the end of the day, but the gift of pure faith in his abilities was its own motivation for the weeks to come.


	46. Stubborn Marrow Kore & Castus Friendship Fic Modern!AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from _Late March, Death March_  
>  For Spartacus Fan Challenges Nov. 2013 character challenge.

Kore pulled her hair back from her face and took a long look at herself in the mirror. Her face was pale, her eyes dull, and her lips thin and stressed. Outside the bathroom door she could hear the sounds of Bruno Mars’ _Natalie_ filtering out of Castus’ room and it made her laugh so hard she started to sob. 

She wasn’t a gold digger by any means. She’d never used Marcus for his money, connections, or influence. She had naively believed him when he said he’d divorced his wife. She’d babysat his eldest son when she was in middle school, she’d always thought him a good man, and she’d been delighted to see him again after she moved back to the city post-college. She never expected for her accounting firm to be in the same building as Marcus’ new law firm location. She thought it’d pure chance they’d met again. She had called it fate, or something far more fantastical that a youthful part of her still clung to, the one that still believed in fairy tales and miracles. 

Jules, Marcus’ latest hotshot attorney, had easily dissuaded her of all those notions over lunch today. 

“You’re a good person, Kore,” he had said. “You don’t deserve the hit to your reputation that will come if this affair gets out. You know how politics work in this town.”

Marcus Crassus and his second wife weren’t divorced; they weren’t even separated.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Castus tapped at the bathroom door. “You didn’t watch _Milo & Otis_ again, did you? You know that always leaves you crying on the bathroom floor.”

Kore laughed even as she reached over to turn the doorknob with eyes blinded by tears.

“Oh Kor,” Castus said. He immediately tugged her into a hug, strong arms holding her tight, not caring about the mess Kore made of his shirt. 

“I’m a fucking idiot,” she forced out through her hitching breaths. “He’s still married and I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You want him gone?” Castus asked. Her cradled the back of her head and hugged her closer. “I know a guy, and a girl, and a whole team. They get shit done.”

“True friendship,” Kore said. She let herself lean on Castus for just a moment longer before she pulled back. “I should’ve known better.”

“You trusted him,” Castus said. “And you’re not the type to do a background check on people you already know. You won’t make that mistake again.”

“What if I do?” Kore asked. 

“You won’t,” Castus insisted. 

She shook her head and stepped out of his arms. “I don’t really trust my own judgment right now.” She pulled one of the faded blue washcloths off the stack and ran it under the faucet. “I’ll be pissed in the morning though.”

“More so than now?” Castus asked. He took the cloth from her and wrung the water out, patting it over her face and resting it over her swollen eyes. “I’ll prepare myself to fully burn the world down tomorrow then. Breakfast of champions and all that.”

“See that you do,” Kore tried to command. 

She took a deep breath as Castus removed the wash cloth. When she opened her eyes she wasn’t surprised to see the red splotches on her face or the tremble of her lips, but the tears had dried.

“Thank you,” she said as she reached for Castus’ hand.

“Anytime, Kor. Always got your back.” Castus ducked his head and laughed. “Besides, I owe you for every time you’ve cleaned up after one of my drunken messes.” He tugged on a strand of her hair. “Want to go to the gym and beat the shit out of my padded hands?”

Kore snorted. “I think I could work with that.”

“Figured you could.” Castus kissed her forehead before leaving her to get ready. 

Kore pulled her hair back again, this time styling it in a messy bun, and look at herself in the mirror. Eyes still swollen, face still pink, but she was calm now, and ready to slay all the dragons.


	47. Foundations of Friendship Varro & Spartacus Canon-era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Spartacus Fan Challenges Week 1 episode challenge. This takes place during the middle of _Legends_.

Rest did not come easy stuck on rough stone floor in a cell full of men who smelled of piss and shit. Varro did not like to dwell on the home, wife, and child he’d left behind to pay off his debts; he could not afford the distraction inside these walls if he was to live, but he missed his home most at night. 

He had buried it deep inside himself, the memories of Aurelia’s soft smile as she watched him sing their Janus to sleep. There was little comfort to be found here, not even in the company of his fellow recruits, with the exception of one.

The Thracian, dubbed Spartacus, was a man apart. He alone among their group had set foot upon the arena’s sands, had fought to the roar of the crowd, had faced his execution and lived. It was obvious the gods favored him, for no man should have survived such odds.

Perhaps he just served as the gods’ entertainment. 

He was a mad fuck to be sure. Varro’s preference for his company had already seen him condemned to a tunnel full of shit, trash, and slop. He had formed friendships in worse places though, and Spartacus seemed far more honorable than the men Varro usually chose to stand beside and gamble his odds away.

Despite all, Varro felt a kinship with him. He didn’t see a foreign warrior as a deserter of Rome; Varro would not enjoy fighting a war not of his own making and he had yet to meet one of Rome’s soldiers worthy of respect. Even in he was a deserter, such a man still stood above the most common criminals and slaves. There was a fight in Spartacus, an obvious defiance that could see him shipped off to the mines, or death, but could also see him to success. Varro always favored the farthest of odds. Such an alignment could see him out of this corner of the Underworld all the faster. 

“Your gods do not grant you sleep?” Spartacus asked.

Varro laughed. “I only sit here waiting to hold such worthy conversation again.”

Spartacus’ smile was clear in the dim light. He rested his head against the bars of their cell. “And so a fool you remain.”

“And still in good company,” Varro said.

Spartacus looked around their cell, then to the one across from them. “Did you bet on these men? The other gladiators? Do some of your debts come from balancing the odds of their deaths?”

“Yes,” Varro said. He saw no need to deny the truth, especially not here where they all bet on each other. “Dice has always been my downfall, but we are in Capua. All bet on the games, from the poorest of slaves to the lanista himself.”

“And you have followed their careers? You know of Barca and Crixus?”

Varro nodded. He had grown up here, near this city, where there was little of import save the games. He’d spent years watching the matches and learning of the gladiators who fought them, the schools they came from, and the legends attached to their names. Men of Varro’s standing would never become senators, but fame, coin, and immortality could be secured as a gladiator.

“The Beast of Carthage and The Undefeated Gaul stand above the rest here,” he said. “Batiatus places most of his favor with them, though Gnaeus is the best of his kind. There are a few others of note. Rabanus wields the spear well, yet he falls below Barca’s skill. Rhaskos is a decent enough fighter, yet lacks in victories and stands far behind Crixus. He is more likely to defeat his opponents with his stench. Donar, from the lands east of the Rhine. He wields a war hammer like no other, though he stands injured now.”

“Yet Batiatus does not sell him off?” Spartacus asked.

“A broken leg will reset in time. Why give up a man with such skill and one Solinus does not possess among his stock,” Varro said.

“It still seems too few a number of worthy men.”

“If you stand among the best and live, your purse remains weighed down with coin. I will say this, even with the mastery of Bara and Crixus, none compare to the first champion of Capua’s arena.”

“And where does he stand now? In the afterlife?”

“He won his freedom,” Varro said. “The only from the city to ever do so. Do not think to match such a feat.”

“I would not waste my years on such,” Spartacus said. “Enough time has been wasted.” He looked down at the brand on his forearm. “And our flesh already enough changed.”

“Even more to come if you seek to buy your way out,” Varro said. “Your cost may stand higher than my debts.”

“I shall just have to fight better than you,” Spartacus said.

Varro knocked Spartacus’ ankle with his foot. “Arrogant fuck.”

“And in good company still,” Spartacus said.

“Shut mouth you fucking bleating goats,” Hamilcar said.

Varro did not try to muffle his laughter, neither did Spartacus.

If nothing else good came from inside these walls, at least there was this, companionship and laughter shared even with freedom stripped away and body’s sore. The laughter soothed the pain and lifted the spirits and made it all the more bearable.


	48. The Bedsharing Trope Duro & Crixus Moose!verse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny ficlet set in the early days of the Live Fast, Die Old/Moose!verse. For a request from Meg on tumblr.

The thing about doing your friends a favor was that sometimes you ended up sharing a bed in a crappy motel with said friend’s kind of asshole boyfriend, because they could only get two rooms, and somehow Duro ended up in bed with Crixus because Saxa was only willing to share a bed with Naevia.

Honestly Duro had only kicked Saxa out of bed once in their lives. Granted, it was off the top bunk and she rolled into a dresser once she hit the floor, but it wasn’t like Duro did it on purpose. It was wrong to hold him accountable for something he did when he was ten. 

It certainly wasn’t worth the punishment of nearly getting kicked in the balls by a guy who could pick Duro up with one hand.

"Did you just whine?" Crixus asked. He shoved a pillow in Duro’s face. "Are you a whiny puppy now."

"I wouldn’t have to be if you’d just stay on your own goddamned side. How are you taking up three-quarters of this bed. You’re not even that tall," Duro said. He pulled hard on the comforter and felt a thrill of victory when he had the whole thing.

"Fine by me if you keep it," Crixus said. "My mother used to clean hotels. I know how often that shit doesn’t get washed. Notice I never touched it. You can have it, Frei."

"Yeah?" Duro asked as he sat up. He felt around in the dark for something to chuck at Crixus’ head. "Why don’t I shove it up your—"

"Boys!" Naevia yelled. Actually yelled. Naevia hardly ever yelled. "Some of us are trying to fucking sleep." She flipped the light on and glared at them both.

Saxus just growled at them before pulling her eye mask back down.

"Either learn to share a bed like civil adults or you can both sleep on the floor, and I’m sure it’s ten thousand times more disgusting than the comforter," Naevia said. "Now are you going to listen to me or do I need to get some pre-schoolers in here to show you how to properly share with your neighbor?"

"We’ll be good," Duro said. He gallantly placed part of the comforter back over Crixus’ sheet covered legs. "Sharing is caring."

"You’re messed up, pup," Crixus said.


	49. Patterns Agron & Duro canon-era

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For amorekay. **Canon Character Death Warning**

Duro could only taste the blood in his mouth. His whole body hurt, even the small scratches of the sand on his skin excruciating in a way that had only been an annoyance before. His eyes were swollen shut and when he tried to breathe blood and spit trickled out of his mouth.

There were strong hands on his arms, pulling him up, helping him stand even as his knees gave out and his legs trembled. He forced his eyes open and saw his brother.

Agron came to him, cradled his head in his hands, and nodded at him. There was pride and love and no words required between them. He laid his forehead against Duro’s own. Agron’s hands were shaking. They both took a breath together.

"Never again you stupid fuck," Agron swore, his voice soft and pleading and too low for the others to hear.

********

Duro could only taste the blood in his mouth. His whole body hurt, even the small scratches of the sand on his skin excruciating in a way he would never know again. Hamilcar was on the ground next to him, life and breath already gone from his body, eyes turned to the starts in the night sky.

There were strong hands on Duro’s shoulders, though the body holding him trembled. Agron came to him, cradled his head in his hands, and rested his forehead against Duro’s own. There was pride there, and love, and fear.

Duro closed his eyes as Agron pulled the sword out of his side. It hurt, but not nearly enough as it should. Duro knew then.

"I save you this time, brother," Duro said, even as it became hard to breathe.


	50. Beware of the Water (Saxa/Belesa Mermaid!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For arkatrine.

"You should not walk so close to the water," Captain Laeta warned. "There are demons below those waves."

Saxa scoffed. “You hold faith in such tales?”

"They are not tales," Captain Laeta said. "Mermaids are the least of the problems out past the boundary, and even they will still tear you apart."

"I do not fear little fishes and their tails," Saxa said.

"I hope the lesson is not too harsh when it comes time for you to learn it."

Saxa knew Captain Laeta was one of the most learned and experienced in these byways, yet Saxa still held little regard for stories told to children and fools to keep them in line. She feared no man or beast, on land or in the deep.

*******

Saxa could hear a soft humming carried on the breeze. It distracted her from her drink, and she shoved her cup at Lugo—the only other pirate worthy of sharing her favorite swill.

Something stirred at the water’s edge, shining gold in the moonlight.

The humming grew louder as Saxa approached. She gripped her sword and prepared her attack.

There was a loud splash. Saxa struck out as a talon hooked into her boot and she was pulled under.

A beautiful face floated above her own. Pale skin, dark hair, wide eyes, wider smile with very pointed teeth.

_Do you believe now?_ whispered a voice in her head.


	51. The Odd Couple (Duro & Nasir + Agron Modern!AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ronandhermy on tumblr who asked for: Duro meets Nasir for the first time without Agron. Posted July 14, 2014.

Nasir’s new roommate had appeared normal on paper and through text messages, and a skype session, but after a year of co-habitation, Nasir was starting to think he needed to rethink his interview process the next time. It’s not that Duro was a bad roommate. He cleaned up after himself. He _liked_ to vacuum and wash the dishes and shovel the snow off their cars. He whistled while he worked and always volunteered to bring up the heavy bags of groceries or take down the trash.

It wasn’t even the odd quirks that concerned Nasir. Like the need to arrange the cereal boxes by color—Nasir was over it. Or how Duro named every single bird he saw out the window and spent an evening telling Nasir about his ex who was a _pigeon fancier_. Nasir had to google it just to make sure pigeon fancier wasn’t some sort of euphemism. It wasn’t even that he routinely woke Nasir up at 3 in the morning by yelling into his cell phone in German while playing video games. Duro apologized each time and always quieted down after.

It was just…Duro had been around for a year and he’d never had family over. Nasir knew he had at least one brother and three very close cousins from all of Duro’s stories, though Duro never shared actual names. They’d just never visited, not even for Duro’s birthday or the holidays. Nasir had asked if it was a travel costs thing, offering to help Duro get back home for Christmas at the very least, and Duro swore it was only a few hours train ride to the family homestead. He just claimed he didn’t want to take the time off work yet. Nasir had accepted it, hadn’t pushed, and just told Duro he was there if he needed someone to listen. Nasir knew damn well about complicated family issues.

Then today happened.

"No—Agron—don’t fucking go in there," Duro yelled from outside the apartment door. "I’ll fucking call the cops you asshole."

Nasir grabbed the bat they kept hidden under the couch just in case. The key turned in the lock as opposed to getting kicked down.

"Holy shit, he is real," some strange man with biceps the size of Nasir’s head said.

"Jesus christ, it’s all over now," Duro said. He punched the man in the arm. "If you break his heart you are so moving all my shit. And finding me a new roommate. And paying any penalties if I have to break my tenant contract.”

"Um?" Nasir asked.

Duro rolled his eyes. “Nasir, this is my brother. Agron. You’ve heard me yell at him a lot. The fucker cheats at _Call of Duty_.”


	52. I've Made a Terrible Mistake (Mostly Gen, pre-Auctus/Duro)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Melitta is full of lies and Auctus greatly regrets his trip to this particular hair salon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an anon on tumblr who asked: _YAY! May I request the following Ducky hairdresser AU: You were highly recommended to me by someone I thought I trusted but now I've seen your dreads I'm seriously reconsidering my choice in friends. Thank you!_

Auctus was going to kill Melitta. Not actually, because he adored every little hair on her head, but he was definitely going to question her hair salon judgements from here on out. He should’ve just gone to the barber shop Oenomaus suggested. If it wasn’t for Gannicus and his damned Hollywood close-up perfect hair, Auctus would’ve followed Oenomuas’ advice. Instead he’d wound up _here_ in a place that smelled of over-priced hair care products, had the type of cheery lighting and décor that just made Auctus’ inner-grouch worse, and played the type of inoffensive Top 40 music that soccer moms and their pampered teens could equally enjoy at the same time.

Auctus fucking hated it. And if that kid with the sea salt hand scrub tried to give him a demonstration one more goddamned time, he was going to _actually_ murder someone. Probably with one of those industrial sized bottles of hairspray. 

“Duro should be with you in just a moment,” the receptionist, Chadara, told him. 

It’d been _just a moment_ for the past hour. Apparently the salon was Brigadoon or some shit and time worked differently here. Auctus just rolled his eyes and flipped through his wilted copy of a three month old _Us Weekly_ again. 

“Fuck, I am so sorry. It’s all Nasir’s fault and his stupid mission to find a present to top Agron’s from last year. I mean, is it normal to be that fucking competitive with your own husband? Eventually someone’s going to have to fold. And come on, how do you beat a week at Disney World?”

Auctus looked up at the auditory and visual whirlwind that had just thrown open the doors of the salon. He hadn’t stopped to take a breath yet as he leaned against Chadara’s desk and continued his story. His shirt was a nice, clearly expensive button-up paired with worn, ripped, black denim jeans and a pair of shoes that Auctus swore looked like a punk teddy bear’s face. He was cute, Auctus could admit, but the hair was just unforgivable. White boy matted braids trying to be dreds? God fucking spare him. 

Auctus kind of wanted to snap a picture and send it to Barca just to hear the hours long rant, but he honestly didn’t think his battery would last that long.

“You’re late,” Chadara said.

“So late,” the guy agreed. “We’re going to have to eat half this appointment. I’ll cover it.”

“Your damn right you will,” Chadara said. She pointed to Auctus. “He’s been waiting for an hour.”

What? No. Auctus shook his head. No, no one with _that_ monumentally bad decision on his head was coming near Auctus. He was going to _kill_ Melitta. 

“I actually think I have somewhere to be,” Auctus said as he put his magazine down. “I’ll just reschedule at a later date.” And with a person not-Duro.

“Bullshit,” Duro said with a smile. He threw an arm around Auctus’ shoulders like they were old friends. “You’ve waited all this time, which is my fuck-up, I know, but I promise we’ll get you out of here soon. Twenty minutes—tops.”

There was a joke in there about stamina Auctus would’ve made in a situation that didn’t involve him paying someone while they did their job or someone with _that_ hair, so he just kept his mouth shut and let himself be guided to one of the stations. 

Duro’s station was as conflicting as his clothes. For all the clearly well maintained and professional equipment present, there were also little miniature bobbleheads of comic book characters and pictures of family and friends near the mirror. The products on the shelf all appeared to be organic and as nature based as possible. It felt like a welcoming, comfortable place in middle of all the sleek, modern lines of the rest of the salon. 

“So, just a trim, then? Establishing yourself here? Or did someone recommend you?”

Duro’s eyes were kind were they met Auctus’ in the mirror and he seemed to actual care about Auctus’ answers.

“Yeah,” he said. “My friend Melitta recommended you.”

Duro’s face lit up with a devastatingly gorgeous smile. “I love Melitta! She’s such a sweetheart. Got a hell of a mouth on her when she’s in a mood, though. You must know Gannicus too.”

“Unfortunately,” Auctus muttered.  
Duro’s laugh was a loud, short bark. He had to take a step back as he covered his face and composed himself.

“Sorry,” Duro said, still struggling to control his laughter. 

“It’s fine,” Auctus said. His eyes strayed to Duro’s hair again and he tried himself not to judge people by their outer appearance. 

“It was a bet,” Duro said.

“Excuse me?” Auctus asked.

“You keep looking at my hair as if it has personally offended you,” Duro said. “I get that a lot actually, and well deserved, but it was a bet.”

Auctus eyed the length of Duro’s hair and frowned. “That must be a long-running bet.”

“My brother’s an asshole,” Duro said. “He bet me that I could never get or keep a job in a salon with hair like this. Ilithyia likes to think it’s edgy though, and this place is really just her pet project to keep her occupied whenever she gets bored. She doesn’t care so much about image and standards. As long as we stay afloat she can’t say much and it’s her money. Luckily we’re all damn good at what we do.”

Duro used his fingers to trail through Auctus’ hair. “You always keep it this long?” he asked. 

“Since college,” Auctus said. His hair was just long enough to pull back in a short ponytail. Sure, it got on his fucking nerves whenever he was working out or cursing Mother Nature, but it worked for him.

“Hmm,” Duro said. “I mean this is the most respectful way, but it kind of ages you. Also overemphasizes your forehead.”

“Excuse me?” Auctus asked.

Duro shrugged. “Just an observation. I mean, you’re still hot as hell, no one’s really going to care, but if you ever want to go shorter, just let me know.” 

Auctus tried to take it all with a grain of salt. Duro was paid to be a mixture of flirtatious and charming, apparently with a side dose of brutal honesty, and he probably didn’t mean anything by it. Auctus certainly never intended to repeat this experience. He was still in some mixed up place between indignant, insulted, and kind of turned on. 

Duro had really talented fingers to go with that gorgeous smile.

Auctus finally closed his eyes and let himself relax as Duro went to work. He tried not to laugh when Duro started humming _Someday My Prince Will Come_ , but did start laughing when he moved on to _A Whole New World_.

“Steady,” Duro said, breath warm in Auctus’ ear. “I’m about to bring out the scissors.”

Auctus would not make a horrible inappropriate comment. He _would not_.

“Really?” Duro asked. “Nothing? Wow, you’re definitely the strong and stoic type aren’t you? Not even a hint of a smile.”

“Maybe,” Auctus said.

Duro laughed softly and then got back to work. It was a soothing as he combed and cut and brushed the split ends away from Auctus’ shoulder and neck. 

“All done,” Duro said. 

Auctus opened his eyes and was pleasantly surprised to see his hair hadn’t been hacked off.

“Seeing is believing,” Duro said. 

Auctus nodded as he scooted out of the chair. He reached for his wallet but Duro waved him off.

“Seriously, it’s my bad. You can pay next time,” Duro said.

“I have to at least tip you,” Auctus insisted.

“Tip Chadara,” Duro said. “She’ll make that appointment for you whenever you want to chop the rest of that hair off.”

Auctus eyed Duro’s hair and smirked. “I will if you will.”

Duro looked shocked for a minute and then that smile was back. He held his hand out. “A gentleman’s agreement?”

Auctus took his hand and held on for just a second too long. “Agreed,” he said.

“See you in a month,” Duro said.

*************

A month later Auctus was back at the salon with Melitta clinging to his arm and Gannicus there with actual popcorn because he was an asshole. Barca and Oenomaus were also with them because apparently this was an _event_.

“We need to take commemorative pictures,” Melitta said. “This is a historic moment.”

“I hate all of you,” Auctus said. 

Chadara greeted them with a squeal and Auctus almost tripped in surprise.

“It’s you! You’re the one that finally got Duro to cut his hair!” She came out from behind her desk and hugged Auctus tight enough to bruise his ribs. “We held a party. All the friends and family got to cut off one of those unmentionable strands of hair.” She pulled back and cupped his cheeks. “Thank you,” she said with complete sincerity. 

“Wait? He already did it?” Auctus asked. He turned and glared at Melitta who winked at him. “You’ve betrayed me for the last time.”

“Nope,” Melitta said as she settled down on one of the couches. She patted the cushion next to her. “Come sit. Nasir’s going to be taking care of you this time.”

“Why?” Auctus asked.

“Because it’s pretty unethical for me to date a client,” Duro said from behind them.

It was only Melitta’s hand on his arm that kept Auctus from falling out of chair. Duro had looked hot before but now--- _fuck_. It just wasn’t fair.

He had curls. Small curls shorn close to his head. He also had a nose ring and Auctus felt his mouth go dry.

“Damn,” was all Auctus could manage.

“Agreed,” Barca said as he reached for a handful of Gannicus’ popcorn. 

“Please tell me that’s not him,” a new voice said. He came around the corner, a fashionably, shiny-haired flurry of movement, and frowned. “The seats don’t go down low enough and we don’t have a step stool high enough for me to reach his scalp.”

Duro smiled. “That’s my brother-in-law, Nasir. He’s a firecracker.”

He was also hobbit sized, but clearly more of an angry hobbit than a Took or some shit. 

“Nasir, meet Auctus,” Duro introduced them.

Nasir frowned as Auctus stood. “That’s not much better. At least I won’t need a ladder.”

“You’re welcome?” Auctus said.

Nasir narrowed his eyes for a moment before he laughed. “Oh, I can’t wait for the family dinners to come.” He gave Auctus an assessing look. “Hair clean?”

Auctus nodded.

“Then let’s get to work. Not that you don’t pull off that Patrick Swayze in _Dirty Dancing_ style you’ve got going on, but it’s no longer 1985. I think we’ll go with a classic.”

“Hail Caesar,” Duro muttered.

“The classics are classics for a reason,” Nasir said. 

Auctus wasn’t about to get into an argument between professional hair stylists so he just got his ass up and into the chair and tried not to complain when Nasir set it as low to the ground as possible.

Nasir’s station was full of personal pictures and postcards. He had a worn, tiny, Monchichi hugging his round container of brushed and a _Quoting Shakespeare_ poster pinned above the mirror.

“I like to give people something to read and it was that or a 100 best movie quotes poster and that just started too many debates,” Nasir explained.

He worked and moved efficiently. He didn’t hum Disney songs under his breath, though he did sing some Journey and Auctus even felt compelled to sing along. Auctus didn’t even feel the ache in his knees after a while. He let himself just close his eyes and relax. Nasir was easy to talk to, made Auctus feel calm, and had a way with small talk that didn’t make it feel like a burden.

“All done,” Nasir said. “Open your eyes.”

Auctus could admit he was impressed. And that he was wrong because Duro was right, the shorter hair did make him younger and somehow made his forehead seem less prominent. Auctus touched the back of his neck and ran a hand over the top of his head. It was a drastic change. His hair hadn’t been this short since high school. It looked good though, he could admit that, and he smiled.

“Thank you,” he told Nasir.

Nasir grinned. “Happy to oblige. Now go ask my brother out on a date so he’ll shut up about all his plans for asking you out.”

“What kind of plans?” Auctus asked.

Nasir just winked at him and walked away. 

Auctus followed him to the counter where he paid his bill, put a generous amount in the tip jar, and tried to ignore the weight of all the eyes on him. 

He nearly threw something when Gannicus started loudly humming _Kiss the Girl_. 

“I need new friends,” he muttered.

Chadara patted his hand. “Don’t worry, I got this.” 

She stood up and came out from behind her desk with all the authority of a well-respected and revered queen. She stopped in the middle of the floor and clasped her hands together.

“Unless you are a currently paying customer or have an appointment today, I must ask you to leave the premises before I have you kicked out for loitering.” She held one perfectly manicured finger up as Gannicus and Melitta started to protest. “Oh, if I were you, I wouldn’t disagree with the person who takes care of scheduling your appointments. Argue with me and I’ll make sure the only person available to shampoo your hair next time is Saxa.”

Both Gannicus and Melitta visibly cringed. They stood up without argument and left, giving Auctus a hard pat on the back and a kiss on the cheek as they walked by. Oenomaus trailed after them, a soft smile on his face. 

“You can stay,” Auctus said.

Oenomaus shook his head. “And leave those two to their own devices? The city won’t survive.” He patted Auctus’ cheek. “This is a good look on you.”

“I know, I know, I needed to cut my hair,” Auctus said.

“That’s not what I meant,” Oenomaus said. 

Auctus nodded. “Thanks, Oenomaus.” He looked over his shoulder and tried to find Barca. “Where did he go?” It wasn’t like Barca was easy to miss anywhere.

“He had one of those free hand massages with the sea salt scrub,” Oenomaus said. “Then he asked the young man giving them out on a date.”

“Typical,” Auctus said with affection. It’d been years since he and Barca decided they made better friends than lovers, and he was thankful to see Barca getting on with his life as well. 

Even if it was with the damnable sea salt scrub person.

“Be well,” Oenomaus said as he left. 

The chime ringing as the door closed only felt a little bit ominous. Now it was just Auctus and Duro and all the employees and clients still in the middle of their appointments. It was absolutely ludicrous and Auctus couldn’t help it. He started to laugh, so hard he was nearly in tears by the end.   
Duro stood at his side when he was done. “I like that sound,” he said.

“I like that hair,” Auctus said as he reached out and ran a hand over the soft curls. “It really suits you.”

“I can say the same,” Duro said. He trailed his fingers over the back of Auctus’ neck. “So, are you free for lunch?”

“As long as there are no more bets involved.”

Duro’s smile was soft and wicked and full of promise. “No guarantees,” he said.


End file.
